


A Practical Guide To Redemption

by Archtea



Category: A Practical Guide to Evil - erraticerrata
Genre: F/F, POV Akua, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 83,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archtea/pseuds/Archtea
Summary: The Grand Alliance is defeated. The Dead King unleashes his full power during the Battle of Hainaut, and not even Catherine Foundling - the Black Queen - is able to stand against it. And so in the final act of her redemption arc, Akua Sahelian sacrifices herself to save the day.Or at least, that was the plan - but the Gods Below are cheating bastards. They're not going to let Akua off the hook that easily.
Relationships: Catherine Foundling/Akua Sahelian | Heiress | Diabolist
Comments: 140
Kudos: 249





	1. Recompense

_“The only true goodbye is one that burns.”_

**– Extract from ‘The Behaviours of Civil Conduct’, by High Lady Mchumba Sahelian**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Recompense**

It was a grand thing, watching Catherine Foundling fight for her life.

I’ll admit it, that was one of the things I respected most about her - alongside her unwavering brutality and penchant for petty cruelty. Catherine simply did not quit. She never knew how. The thought of defeat was inconceivable to her. Even when the tides of the dead were upon us and the gates of hell were wide open, she would simply bare her fangs and scream at the devils to come and try to take a bite.

 _It is almost Praesi in nature_ , I mused. Her versus the entire world. She would have made a good Tyrant.

Still, this battle was different. I could feel the cold dread in my bones (metaphorically speaking). The Battle for Hainaut had already reached its pivot, and this time it hadn't fallen in our favour.

The skies above Hainaut were bright red while the ground was black with bodies. An army of hundreds of thousands - Procerans, Callowans, Leventines and Firstborn - was being overwhelmed from all sides. Hulking bone leviathans had already smashed through the walls and broken our ranks, and now the defenders had retreated to the main keep for one final stand. Flying devils were flocking through the air, swarming the castle from above.

A band of villains and heroes fighting together against the tides of darkness - that narrative was the only reason we had lasted so long. The defenders were fighting tooth and nail and they were slaughtering scores of dead and devils with the winds of Creation in our sails, but it couldn’t last. It couldn’t overcome despair, exhaustion and hunger.

The Dead King had finally stopped pulling his punches. Today was the day that the Grand Alliance finally fell.

It had started with the skies turning red. The Dead King had unleashed a mass ritual that smothered the night's sky with an artificial hell sun - rendering all of our Night-users near useless. Trismegistus had proven his mastery; he had managed to break the drows' connection to Sve Noc. Catherine, First Under the Night, had been left vulnerable when there was no Night to draw upon.

It only became worse from there when the Hell Gates opened, and scores devils and demons from the deepest Hells took to the field. This was a once in a millennium occurrence, I knew - I was witnessing the Great Enemy unleash a millennium’s worth of preparation and power. The army of the Grand Alliance didn’t stand a chance.

She was still fighting, though. Even without her powers of Night, Catherine was still fighting with a bloody sword in hand, despite her limp, her fallen comrades and all of the odds stacked against her. My dearest never did learn how to lose gracefully.

“ _Fuck off and die!_ ” Catherine screamed, slashing through the horde of devils, her voice thick with wroth.

I couldn’t help but smirk, but there was no humour in it. Perhaps it was funny - a few years ago I would have quite enjoyed seeing Catherine and the Woe being decimated. In any different setting, I would have had a monologue prepared about the nature of conquests and villainy. I would have enjoyed twisting the knife of her defeat. Still, right now, I felt nothing but a cold pit in the centre of my soul.

The legionnaires of the Fourth Army managed to force the doors closed against the swarm, as the last of our mages and priests succeeded in throwing up a barrier. But it couldn’t last - we were spent and the undead were relentless.

“Where is Prince Klaus?” Catherine demanded, blood dripping down her brow. “Where is the Pilgrim?”

I materialised by her side without a sound. “Dead, and dead,” I answered.

She turned to me with hard eyes. “Akua. You’re still here.”

“I am,” I agreed, with vague surprise on my own part. I had my chance to leave, but for some baffling reason I had convinced myself to stay. Who knew that fucking heroism was contiguous?

She took a deep breath. “There were survivors,” Catherine said, as if she needed to console herself. “Viv must have managed to get through the Twilight Gate.”

I shook my head softly. “No,” I admitted. “A Demon of Absence was unleashed onto the Twilight Gate. Masego couldn’t stop it in time.”

Those words caused her to physically stagger, the blood draining from her face. Catherine clutched at her stomach, as if a knife stabbed into her gut. The Woe was broken.

And yet the worst part is that I felt the same pain. It felt shameful, dammit. I used to be a villain - once I had been ready to light the whole world on fire. Their loss shouldn’t have bothered me. But it was Catherine who had done this to me, from the moment she ripped out my heart. _She made me care_. I hated her for that almost as much as I loved her.

The reality of the situation was sinking in. There were only a meagre few soldiers left, and no other Named. There was no Gate, no Night, no escape. Catherine had an expression that I had once seen in myself after Second Liesse - it was the face of a woman who had just learnt true, utter loss.

She took a deep breath, and I said nothing. For the first time in my whole life, I didn’t know what to say.

“You’re still here,” Catherine repeated finally, her voice a whisper.

Outside the devils were howling, the rumbling shook the castle. The sky shone blood red. Soon, this whole city would be devoured by demons.

“I’ll be by your side until the end,” I promised, and it hurt because I knew I meant it.

“No,” she said sadly. “You have to go now.”

I was a shade - I had no bodily functions to speak of - but still I blinked. “What? I can’t -”

“You’re free of me now, Akua,” Catherine said with a humourless smile. “You can go and I can’t. Someone needs to warn Hasenbach and the Arsenal, _someone_ needs to make it out of here. I’ll buy you time, and you fly away.”

I _could_ escape, I knew. Unlike those of mortal flesh and bone, as a detached soul my form was more flexible. It was how I had survived this long. I could certainly transform into a black swan and fly - it would be difficult to slip through the horde of devils, but if anyone stood a chance it was me.

It was a sensible last resort from Catherine’s perspective. And yet it was unacceptable.

“My dearest, allow me to put this gently,” I said with a sigh. “Fuck off.”

 _Was this your plan from the beginning?_ I wondered. _A heroic bloody self-sacrifice?_ I scoffed at the thought. I was the last daughter of House Sahelian - as if I would ever allow such a disgrace.

“Akua, you -”

“No, _you_ listen,” I retorted. “What sort of ‘last stand’ bullshit have those heroes been filling your head with? We’re _villains_ , darling, we don’t go gracefully into the night.”

“You think I wanted it this way?” Catherine snapped. “It’s already over for us, but there’s still a chance for the Alliance. The Dead King has upped the stakes, but Creation will level the playing field - somehow.” She shook her head. “Someone just has to be around to see it.”

 _And you’re trusting_ me _to save the day. How_ dare _you?_

Her revenge had been ingenious in its cruelty, I admit. Somehow, she had collared me with a leash that I do not want to remove. I didn’t _want_ to leave her behind, I didn’t want to save myself. If this was the end, then I knew where I had to be.

The power of friendship, indeed.

“You do not have the right to decide how I die,” I growled. “Who do you think you are, dismissing me? After all these years, Catherine, and you remain as oblivious as ever. If I must face my demise, it _will_ be on my own terms.”

I gathered all my pride in a manner that only a daughter of a High Lady could achieve, and brushed her aside. My voice was sharp and full of disdain. It was easier to act angry rather than surrender myself to sorrow. I blocked out all those feelings of heartbreak and grief, and I harnessed my emotions into something more productive.

“There is one last cliff for you to stand at, my heart,” I said scathingly, “and this time you better fly.”

“No, don’t -”

I didn’t hear her. She tried to stop me, but a blast of magic from my fingertips sent her flying backwards. The soldiers of Callow parted wordlessly to let me pass, and I stepped forward to the exit.

I flung the door open, and faced the end with wide arms. My black dress fluttered behind me like wings as I levitated up off the floor, hair blowing in the wind and power surging around me. I faced the devils and the dead without hesitation.

I took a deep unearthly breath, channeling everything that I had left. My essence, my soul, my fury.

Lightning and shadow flew from my fingers, scorching the stones clear as I emerged from the keep. The devils and demons were quashed before because at my core I was still the Diabolist. The gates to all hells were open, and this was _my_ moment.

_Come on, you bastards below. I gave you two hundred thousand souls at Liesse - **I am owed.**_

I felt them stirring beneath me. The shadow of their power felt like the waves from leviathans breaking the surface. Those traitorous gods were awake and watching - and the Gods Below did love a show.

I heard Catherine screaming, and raucous laughter broke from my throat. That is right - _you_ deserve to be the one who gets to survive with all this heartbreak. For I was a Sahelian, and I even in my sacrifice I could be spiteful.

I felt my body expand, I saw the city around me burn…

 _I should say a one-liner_ , I thought suddenly. It was only proper, after all, to give Creation a final send-off. _What should I say?_ Once upon a time I would have said something pithy, arrogant and victorious, but considering the circumstances it deserved something with a bit more oomph. A pun, perhaps, just to really kick Catherine in the teeth.

“Here ends the tragedy of Akua Sahelian,” I laughed, as I exploded in glorious fire, “Oh, Woe is me!”

For one brief moment, I knew what it would feel like to destroy the world.

…

…

“Lady Akua,” a voice echoed. “My lady?”

My eyelids fluttered open, and I took a breath. A real breath, with actual lungs and cold air. It had been so long that I almost forgot how to breathe. I sputtered, choking on my own throat.

 _My throat_. My body was flesh, blood and bone. I felt it, I felt my own heartbeat.

“Lady Heiress!” a nervous voice exclaimed. “Are you…?”

Her voice trailed off, because it would have been unsightly for a mere servant to question whether Akua Sahelian was alright.

My eyes managed to focus, and I was in a stone chamber decorated by silk, gold and lavish finery. I remembered this room, although it had been so long. Two servant girls were standing before me with their heads bowed low, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of their lady looking so dazed.

“Forgive us, Lady Heiress,” one of them begged. “But you were asleep so long, and we weren’t sure…”

 _Heiress_. I knew it in my bones - I felt my Name. _I am the Heiress again._

I did not reply. I blinked with shock. Absently, I weaved magic through my fingers - as a test to check Creation for illusions or inconsistencies. I found none. _This feels real._

I stood up from my bed, and quietly approached the window. I was not easily shaken, but in that moment I felt as perturbed as I had ever been. I stared out from my chamber, overlooking a vast cityscape. In the distance, I noticed the blackened ruins where one district of the city had very recently been burnt by goblinfire.

“Where are we?” I asked quietly. I recognised this view, but I had to be sure.

The serving girls seemed surprised. “Summerholm, Lady Heiress,” she answered. “We’re in Summerholm.”

 _Huh_.


	2. Reprimands

_“To every rule there is an exception, bar one. In the defiance of those rules, there is power.”_

**– Kayode Owusu, Warlock under Dread Emperors Vindictive I and Nihilis**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Reprimands**

I knew this moment, of course. I had literally been here before. I was in Summerholm, staying as a ‘guest’ of the governor, a mere week after the Squire - _Catherine Foundling_ \- had fought against the Lone Swordsman and set half the city alight in the process.

I knew this scene. My memory was as perfect as the rest of me. That was not arrogance, simply fact. Those of House Sahelian of Wolof had been bred, shaped and trained for perfection, and I was the best of them. I mastered High Arcana as a child, I came upon my Name - the _Heiress_ \- younger than anyone else before me. My entire life, I have been primed to be my family’s legacy. 

And I had succeeded, in my own way.

I do not delude myself. A large portion of magic relies on mastery of your own mind, and overcoming your base instincts. A weaker individual might have ‘freaked out’ or convinced themselves that this was just some dream, but I knew better. _I am here, and it is real_.

 _I have gone back in time_ , I realised. Seven years back in time, to be exact.

I was seventeen years old again. I was the Heiress - before the Liesse Rebellion, before the war with Arcadia, before Second Liesse. Before the Tenth Crusade, before the war with the Dead King. For the first time in five years, I felt alive - _properly_ alive, not just some shade.

My body was in the exact same state as I remembered. There was no gaping hole in my chest from where my heart was ripped out at nineteen years old, nor was I a disembodied soul. Somehow, I retained all my memories of the last seven years. It was as if my consciousness had been perfectly transplanted back over a previous version of myself.

 _Temporal thaumic manipulation_ , I thought with a vague shiver. _Time-travel_ , in a layman’s term. It was possible, of course, but it was a branch of study that was near entirely theoretical in nature. To alter reality to such an extent, to rewind time back seven years. That was a feat far beyond the capacity of any mortal being - or an immortal one, even. Neither Trismegistus nor Sve Noc would not be able to achieve it. That sort of power was the sole province of the Gods.

The implications were… mind-reeling, to say the least. I had sacrificed myself in Hainaut, and yet the Gods Below had picked up my soul and moved it elsewhere. To _here_ , to a different plane of Creation. _Why?_

I could only think of one answer which made any sense. Catherine’s own words echoed back to me. _‘The Dead King has upped the stakes, but Creation will level the playing field - somehow.’_

That was the oldest story in the books after all. If the forces of doom were overwhelming, then those on the other side _had_ to receive a power-up to compensate. Heroes had been exploiting that rule for eons. You couldn’t put a hand on the scales without Creation pushing back. The Dead King had unleashed an unstoppable power which threatened to break the game, and so the Gods had changed the rules.

 _And is that me?_ I wondered. _Am_ I _what the Gods Below have chosen as their 'hero'?_

… I wonder what Catherine would have to say concerning that suggestion?

I sat in my chamber and considered the possibilities, but then there was a knock on my solar. _Right on queue_. I had known that she would arrive - I remembered this moment happening before. I opened the door, and Fadila Mibafeno stood outside of my room.

“Lady Heiress,” Fadila greeted, bowing her head respectfully. “It is successful - we have retrieved one of the bodies.”

I remembered hearing this news before, but this time I felt nowhere near as gleeful as I had been previously. I nodded. “Let me see it.”

After years of training and grooming, I managed to hide the unease from my features. Fadila didn’t seem to notice anything was off with me. I felt rather like a character in a play, repeating my old lines and acting as if nothing had changed.

She escorted me down to the dungeons of the manor, where I saw several old faces that had long been ghosts. I recognised my personal guard. I saw Ghassan Enazah, Huwulti Sahel, and Fasili Mirembe. They were my former retinue - all of whom would later die by Squire’s hand.

And then I saw _Barika_ , my childhood friend. She bowed her head down towards me, and I felt a squirming in my chest. I revealed nothing on my face, but the emotion was still there.

They were all gathered in the dungeon around a ritual circle drawn in blood, and in the centre lay a scorched, dead body. It was the body of the goblin, Chider, which had been dug up from the ruins of a razed building, and then patched together with sorcery. The necromantic ritual was already prepared.

“The body is in good condition, considering the circumstances,” Fasila was explaining, “I think that reanimation is possible.”

Oh yes, I remembered this moment. I felt vaguely dazed as I watched it unfold again. It was over a week after the fight with the Lone Swordsman, but only a couple of days after the incident on the fields of the Blessed Isle. There, I had confronted Catherine with four men armed with crossbows. I had thought myself so clever, at the time. I had threatened the Squire, threatened to murder everyone at her former orphanage, and tried to force her into getting on a boat and leaving her Name behind. Instead, Catherine had called me out, and killed all four of my men with a knife. _That_ had been her first victory against me on the pattern of three.

I had been _so_ angry afterwards, and I came to the conclusion that I needed a new plan to deal with the Squire. So I returned to Summerholm, where I ordered my underlings to dig up the ruins of the goblinfire. I had unearthed one of the dead bodies of the Squire claimants, with the intention of resurrecting them to steal Catherine’s Name.

Which was another plan that had backfired on me, actually.

I stood there, staring down at the dead goblin Chider.

“We have the sacrifices ready to go,” Fasil reported, pointing towards several cages filled with prisoners. “All rebels. At your command, Lady Heiress?”

I stopped, and quietly considered my future.

“No,” I decided. “Cancel the ritual, dispose of the body.”

Fasil blinked, taken back. “My lady?”

“It is not worth it,” I replied, with a dismissive of my heard. “The reanimation is too costly, for too little reward.”

The blood mages and sorcerers murmured. “You asked us to do this,” Fasil protested. “The ritual is already -”

“It was a possibility, but I have re-evaluated,” I said in a cool tone. “There is no guarantee that the claimant will be able to usurp the Name of Squire - besides it would be too risky trusting such a task to a goblin.” 

They were all caught off-guard - from their perspective, it must have seemed as if I had abruptly changed my mind, which was a very out of character thing for me to do. I did not normally second-guess myself. My expression gave nothing away; for now I had to act exactly like I was the same person I had been seven years again. Perhaps some reassurance was in order.

“You have done good work,” I praised. “And it will be remembered. But I do not wish to proceed.”

Barika nodded slowly. “What should we do with the sacrifices, Lady Heiress?”

I paused only fractionally. The sacrifices were men, women and children who had been marked as suspected rebels. I hadn’t thought twice about bleeding them dry the first time around. Now, I felt a shimmer of… what was that? Guilt? Regret? It was a fucking unpleasant emotion, that’s what it was.

And yet if I showed _emotion_ here, that would be like throwing chum into shark-infested waters.

I only shrugged. “Whatever you will,” I said dismissively. “Put them back where you found them, if it pleases you.”

With that, I turned and walked away.

I returned to my chamber, and as I re-sealed the door twenty-four layers of wards hummed against my skin. Oh, I remembered this part well. I pulled out a round golden mirror, the size of my palm, and rested it innocently on the table. I let out a long breath and forced my mind to cool. It was not a Name trick but a meditative one, setting aside distractions and allowing my thoughts to flow without emotion.

I touched a finger to the polished gold. “Show me not my reflection,” I spoke in an ancient Mtethwa dialect, “but the face of your brother.”

My touch did not leave a fingerprint. There was no ripple, no uncouth glow: a different face simply appeared on the surface. An older Soninke man appeared on the surface, face wrinkled with laugh lines and sleepless nights. Not particularly handsome, but there was an intensity to him that almost made up for it when he focused entirely on something.

“Papa ” I smiled - one of my most genuine smiles in years. Gods Below, it had been so long.

“Mpanzi,” my father grinned. “You’re calling earlier than expected? Are there issues with the resurrection?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s…” I hesitated only briefly. “The resurrection failed,” I lied. “The body was in too poor a state.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

 _Not really_. “It’s not about that,” I said, “I have another question - what do you know about the Taghei ritual?”

Dumisai of Aksum blinked, seemingly surprised for a moment but then his smile widened. Papa loved discussing obscure forms of magic.

“Time magic?” he laughed. “Why, the Taghei ritual never worked - the chaos threshold was far too high. It backfired as soon as the heroes kicked the door down.”

“But the principles were theoretically sound?” I asked.

“Supposedly, yes,” he conceded. “Although there is no way to prove as much. Dread Emperor Sorcerous took the secret of those workings to his grave.”

And later when he emerged from that grave, the Dread Emperor had been in no mood to share. No one since had attempted to replicate the feat.

“Has there ever been another successful temporal manipulation?” I asked.

“Not with Trismegistan sorcery.” He shook his head. “With Ligurian sorcery - _possibly_ , but even then only to a limited degree. The fundamentals of time as a whole are not easily captured in High Arcana. Now, there were some theories concerning the Riddle of Kreios…”

What followed was a long and involved discussion regarding the principles of time and magic. It provided little that I didn’t already know, but it was worthwhile just to see my father’s eyes light up with the subject. I hadn’t even appreciated how much I truly missed him. His loss had hurt me more than the actual hole in my chest.

“Unless you’re asking about time travel in a broader sense,” Papa added thoughtfully. “In which case the story of the Dreamer King comes to mind.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“It's more rumours than anything substantial,” he explained. “It was before the Declaration, during the rebellions against Miezan occupation. Back then, the Dreamer King led the rebellion against the Black Imperator, in the lands that are now known as Procer. At the peak of the conflict, the Dreamer King and some ten thousand rebels managed to achieve an unlikely victory over a far larger imperial force at the battle of Kulkat Peak.”

“However, the Dreamer King himself later claimed that he _lost_ the Battle of Kulkat Peak,” Papa continued. “And yet the sacrifice of his lover summoned some divine intervention which sent him back in time. And it is true that during the battle he did manage to outmanoeuvre the Miezan forces at every turn - which was supposedly due his knowledge from that alternate timeline.”

That was the battle which led to the collapse of the Miezan occupation, and then later the founding of Praes itself. It _had_ been an extraordinarily implausible victory - although that was hardly shocking where heroes were concerned. I had known of the Dreamer King and the rebellion, but not that apparent time travel was involved.

“I did not know that,” I admitted.

Papa waved his hand. “It is baseless speculation - how can anyone say for sure whether an alternate timeline truly existed or not?” He waved his hand dismissively. “From an outside perspective, we can only observe a linear line of causality. If there _was_ divine intervention, then it’s far more likely it was one granting him a divination of the future, which he later mistook for reality. True time travel is highly implausible.”

That was a point - if a hallucination was vivid enough, how could you differentiate it from reality? Still, I felt certain that I hadn’t dreamt the last seven years.

However, I couldn’t be sure whether the flow of time had actually reverted, or whether my consciousness had simply been moved across to a parallel stream of reality. Perhaps somewhere, in some alternate future, Catherine Foundling was fighting for her life in Hainaut. Those sort of questions were both mind-boggling and redundant.

 _There is a theory on time travel by a Delosian philosopher_ , I recalled. It said that a single grain of sand dropped in a different place could result in an avalanche. There was a ripple effect associated with change; from the very moment of divergence, the future would vary drastically.

I had already made my first changes - my first decisions to do something different. From this point onwards, I could no longer say what the future would look like. The thought made my heart skip.

 _Seven years_. I have seven year’s worth of knowledge of future events. Seven years, to make sure that what I had lived through will not come to pass.

So what did I want the future to be?

Even after I ended the scrying ritual with Papa, the concept of time travel was so engrossing that I lost hours absorbed in thought. I would have to experiment - _subtly_ \- that much was certain. If it were possible to replicate what had been done to me, to decompose time itself…

Then, there was a knock at my door. “My lady?” a hesitant voice called.

“Barika?” I returned.

The Soninke girl stepped inside, bowing low. “My lady, I wasn’t sure where you were,” she admitted. “You had a meeting planned with the governor this afternoon.”

I did? Damn, I actually forgot about that - I had made those meeting arrangements over seven years ago, from my perspective. Still, from what I could recall, it hadn’t been a fruitful meeting.

“Something else came up,” I said dismissively. “Give the governor my regards.”

Barika nodded, but she hesitated on the threshold of my doorway. “Is there an issue, my lady?” she asked. “You seem… distracted.”

Was it really that obvious? Perhaps I had grown sloppy from my time as a shade.

“Just contemplative,” I said with a sigh. I turned in my chair to face her. “Tell me,” I asked curiously. “Where do you see yourself in seven years' time?”

Barika looked both surprised and alarmed by the question. She probably thought that this was a question of her loyalties, which, you know, fair.

“By your side, my lady,” she replied, bowing her head low, “when we take back Praes from Malicia.”

_You die in an alleyway in Liesse, when the Squire puts a crossbow bolt in your skull. And you’re the only one I actually mourn._

“Yes,” I agreed softly. “That is the plan, isn’t it?”

There was a time when the future all seemed so clear, but then Catherine fucking Foundling came and muddled the waters.

The reality was starting to settle in; I had gone back in time. I had returned to the outbreak of it all, back to the moment when I made a choice that I hadn’t even realised I made.

I could do it again, I knew. If I wanted to be the Doom of Liesse, I would do it so much better. I already knew the secret of creating Greater Hell Gates - I carried that knowledge with me. The do-over would be much more efficient. They wouldn’t be able to kill me again.

I could win at Liesse, both first and second. I could pre-empt all the ways Catherine had managed to outsmart me. I could stop Black from killing my father. I could overthrow Malicia, I could kill my mother with my own hands. There was so much _potential_. This time around, I could truly be the greatest villain since Triumphant, as I was meant to be.

Yet there was only one problem - there was one frustrating voice of doubt in my head I just couldn’t silence. _Do I_ want _to do any of that?_

A fork in the path lay before me. Down one road, there was villainy and chaos. That path led to me conquering Calernia, crushing my enemies underfoot, and restarting the Age of Wonders.

But the other path was more complicated. I wasn’t even certain if I believed in it, but something from Catherine must have rubbed off. I remembered the future that Catherine had fought and bled to achieve - the Truce, the Accords. _Peace_. Not so long ago, the very concept would have been ash in my mouth, but now…

“What are you thinking, my lady?" Barika asked.

“I think…” I mused slowly. “I think that perhaps I should do something different.”

The thought came to me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I am not Catherine Foundling, but neither am I the same person I once was. _I will find my own path._

“Summon the carriage,” I instructed, still smiling. “We are going to Ater.”

* * *

The War College was situated on the outskirts of Ater, a large two-story stone hall made up mostly of classrooms, but the cadet barracks and training fields took up the entire city district known as the Five Swords Lanes. I watched out of the window of my carriage as the streets stirred at my approach.

After all, it was not every day that the Heiress to Wolof approached the academy. My carriage was a large, intimidating black construct flying the banners of Wolof - powered as much by magic as a team of horses. The legionnaires standing guard seemed alarmed as my carriage pulled up, as if they weren’t sure whether or not the building was under attack.

I should have been escorted by a troop of Wolof household guards, but this time I travelled quickly with only a bare escort. My retinue of noble sons and daughters were all murmuring to themselves; they were clearly confused, but they didn’t dare second-guess my impromptu decision. I had told no one of my intentions - not even Mother - and that very thought made it all the more enjoyable.

I emerged from my carriage dress in full regalia - long, black dress draping behind me on the ground, decorated in obsidian gems. My hair was pinned upwards, and my beauty was on full display. I quietly pressed on my Name, exerting a subtle, hypnotising presence to all those watching.

“Lady Sahelian?” a nervous looking clerk croaked, as I strolled up to the front desk.

I smiled sweetly. This was going to be fun.

“Good afternoon,” I greeted. “I wish to enrol in the War College.”


	3. Rectify

_“To the wicked High Lord of Okoro, it has come to my attention of your treacherous collusion and participation in deceitful conspiracies, thus proving yourself to be a foul enemy of the Tower. As a punishment for your treachery, I hereby declare that you are to be transformed into a three-headed dragon.”_

**– Dread Emperor Anima, the Last of the ‘Mayfly Emperors’**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Rectify**

“What is the meaning of this lunacy?” Mother demanded.

High Lady Tasia Sahelian was nearly sixty years old, though she looked barely half of that. It was no glamour: rituals to maintain the physical trappings of youth and the same superior breeding that had led to beauty were more than enough. Mother bore high cheekbones and perfect eyebrows, lovely dark golden eyes and full lips – it was no mystery why the High Lady still had so many admirers even at her age.

Meanwhile, I was the picture of demure respect as I sat with my arms folded, smiling into the scrying mirror. “Good morning, mother.”

“Explain yourself, daughter,” she said darkly.

“I thought it would be self-evident,” I replied innocently. “I have enlisted to join the Legions.”

The paperwork had already been signed, and within a matter of hours High Lady Tasia had found out. Honestly, the fact that it had taken so long demonstrated the poor quality of her spy network within the Legions.

My retinue had all enrolled alongside me, but only because they had been ordered by their families to follow my lead. Fasili Mirembe had almost had a fit when he had been told to sign his name to join the War College. The only one of them who had done so without complaint was Barika, but she had always been the most loyal towards me personally, rather than my family name.

Ever since the Reforms, the High Lords and their families had shunned the War College. Once, the War College had been a training ground for young aristocrats, but then Black had taken over, filled the College with greenskins, and afterwards the nobility eschewed the place. It was quite the scandal that the most notable heirs of the generation had just broke tradition and enrolled.

The High Lady’s gaze darkened. “You will quit immediately,” she commanded.

“I cannot.” I shrugged. “I have already signed on. To leave now would be desertion.”

Tasia was too high-bred to raise her voice, but her nostrils flared with temper. Her expression radiated fury. “I will not have you make a fool of me like this,” she warned.

“The War College is but a stepping stone,” I countered. “You expect me to take control of the Legions, do you not?”

“As a leader, not as a common soldier,” she scolded. “You are the Heiress to Wolof, but this foolish decision puts you firmly under _Black’s_ command. What does it say about your rank if you are traipsing around with common soldiers?”

“Only for a few months, nothing more,” I replied simply. “I joined the War College as a final year, and the year is nearly over. I will not be a student for long.”

The reason why was obvious to both of them. Catherine Foundling - as _Lieutenant Callow_ \- had recently joined the War College, and I had made sure I was placed in an equivalent grade.

Mother's eyes narrowed. “If you wish for a rematch with Squire, there are easier ways,” Mother said finally. “But it demeans yourself to crawl down into the mud to meet such a lowly opponent.”

 _And that is your problem, Mother._ That _is the reason you lost_. Admittedly I had once held the same view, but this time I promised myself I would do better.

I wasn’t afraid of Mother. I wasn’t a little girl anymore - I was more experienced than she knew, and I had faced enemies far more terrible than her. She was trying to be scolding, but honestly I had to resist the urge to laugh in her face.

Even so, it was too early to cut the cord with her entirely. High Lady Tasia had resources that I would need, so for now I had to offer some justifications for myself.

I discreetly called upon my own Aspect - **Persuade** \- and it answered me like a familiar friend. It was a subtle effect - not enough to be noticeable, but enough to make my voice more convincing.

“Black intends for his protege to attend college for a few months, and then emerge as the head of the Fifteenth Legion,” I said coolly. “I intend to take that appointment myself. I will attend the college, I will beat Squire at every turn, and afterwards I will take the command of Fifteenth. Then, there will be no doubt which of us is the superior.”

High Lady Tasia paused. “And if she wins?”

“She will not. She is lowborn Wallerspawn, after all.”

“This is against the plan. We could have taken control of the Fifteenth through other means.”

“Perhaps, but the Fifteenth is a new legion, it will consist of War College graduates. This way I will be able to meet those that I will be commanding beforehand. That familiarity will make it far easier to plant our agents in the Legion ranks,” I said placatingly. “It gives us a foothold in the Legions, Mother.”

I doubt she quite bought it, but it was a passable lie. Her lips pursed, as if trying to parse my true intentions. She wouldn’t succeed.

“You did this without my consent,” Tasia said darkly. “Your father will be the one to suffer for your disobedience.”

At that, I laughed out loud - a light, contemptuous chuckle. “It’s always the same threat, isn’t it, Mother?” I mused. “I disobey, and you torture my father for it? And it’s true, I would prefer not to see Papa harmed.”

_You, on the other hand, could suffer agonising pain and torment, and I wouldn’t give a damn._

“But that is a threat that loses its potency each time you use it.” I shook my head dismissively. “Do what you will. I’ll be doing the same.”

I ended the conversation there, which was probably for the best.

* * *

I arrived at the War College the very next day for my induction and my first day of class. And you know, I was feeling strangely excited. Defying exceptions made for a pleasant feeling - I could appreciate why Catherine enjoyed doing so.

There was a small crowd of onlookers gathered as my retinue and I approached the buildings - consisting of both students who wanted to see their new classmate and aristocracy who wanted to see if the rumours were true. I strolled shrouded in dignity and pride as I entered the building, without a hint of nerves or hesitation.

At the front door, I met a familiar, remarkably plain-looking woman waiting for me. She was standing in the foyer, and most of the people in the building didn't even notice until she stepped out of the background. As always, her face was so plain it was impossible to remember it.

“Lady Scribe,” I greeted with a warm smile. “I expected to see Lord Black here.”

“Heiress,” Scribe replied coolly. “Black is away on business.”

Oh yes, that’d be the whole ‘Red Letter’ affair - although I wasn’t supposed to know about that. At the time, Black Knight had managed to keep the existence of Red Letter quite secret, but I had later found out about it from my time with Catherine and pieced together about when it must have happened.

“Well, I _do_ hope Lord Black returns safely from the Eyries,” I replied innocently.

At that, her eyes narrowed. Oh, how I wish I could see Black Knight’s reaction.

“Follow me for your induction,” she said curtly, after only a brief pause.

Myself, Barika, Fadila, Fasili, Huwulti and Ghassan all followed her through the building. For once, we left our household guard behind. Most of us were already dressed in extravagant armour bearing the crests of our houses, but Scribe still came to a halt in an armoury filled with iron breastplates and beaten leather.

“Your uniforms,” Scribe instructed, just a hint sardonically. “Your regulation armour, sword and helm. Pick one your size.”

It was not unexpected, although I imagined that this was Black’s little dig. My enchanted silk dresses were, of course, against Legion regulation. Instead they gave us the plainest, most beaten-looking armour imaginable and expected us to wear it like we were any other enlisted soldier.

Doubtless it would be entertaining to some to dress the _Heiress_ in second-hand clothes. Forcing us to wear such cheap uniforms was a deliberate attack on our personas.

But no matter - it made no difference. My pride was important to me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t swallow it when I needed to. I only smiled, showing no sign of discontent at the ugly clothes.

“A uniform. How thoughtful of you,” I said, although the others of my retinue looked physically pained.

I picked up the nearest uniform, although I knew it wouldn’t fit properly. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Scribe had ensured beforehand that _none_ of the uniforms in this room fitted us properly.

“You have been assigned to Snake Company,” Scribe continued. _Har, very funny, Black._ “And you’ve also been enrolled onto the mage classes.”

The mage classes? Now that _was_ funny. The mage classes run by the War College were a running joke - the mages employed the Legions were the most pathetic sort imaginable. They learnt only the most basic sort of magic. We were heirs of High Houses - we could teach those classes and still be bored by them.

“Well, I am very eager to learn,” I replied sweetly.

“Then welcome to the War College, Lieutenant Sahelian,” Scribe said stiffly.

“Lieutenant?” Fasili cut in, looking outraged by the whole affair. “She should be captain!”

“Why, nonsense,” I replied. “There _is_ a chain of command, and never would I ask to receive any sort of preferential treatment.”

Scribe was good at hiding her emotions, but I still detected the flicker of doubt across her expression. No doubt both she and Black knew that this was an act - they both knew I was plotting something, but they likely couldn’t even guess at what it was.

But from Black’s perspective, my joining the War College was greatly beneficial to him. Not only did it give him leverage over the High Lords, but it also meant that Squire had a nemesis in the College that she could hone herself against. Iron sharpens iron, after all. And so they were playing along - as I knew they would - all the while watching closely for my next move.

Scribe gave me a very dubious look. “Your classes begin in one bellspan,” she said simply, before fading away and disappearing into the background.

I chuckled and picked up one of the uniforms. My retinue was staring at me, aghast by everything that had just happened.

“How can you be so calm?” Fasili demanded. “This is blatant disrespect against our position!”

“Patience,” I replied, feeling genuinely cheerful. “We will be running this place soon enough.”

* * *

Taking control of Snake Company would have been child’s play even if I hadn’t had the advantage of extreme wealth and a Name. But as it happened, I arrived as practically a celebrity in the War College, and seizing control of a bunch of Praesi youths was infantile for me.

Snake Company was a mage-focused company, which had undoubtedly been intentional. Snake Company included twice the number of mage lines than any other company in the College. Of course, the ‘mages’ of the Legion tended to consist of those with an extremely weak Gift. They were taught only two spells; healing and fireball - but to the Reformed Legions those were all that was needed.

Mind, that was one of the many areas where I disagreed with Catherine. Black Knight had considered mages as glorified artillery, and Catherine had inherited his mindset, but it was also _wrong_. It was a view that drastically underestimated what a talented mage could accomplish, and choosing mundanity of the masses over excellence of a few was a fool’s choice.

Myself, Fasili, Fadila and Barika were mages capable of High Arcana, which meant that we alone could overpower all of the second-bit spell-shooters in the Snake Company.

The captain of Snake Company had been a man called Captain Agred. He was a Duni, of all things. Oh, he was a perfectly competent commander, a mediocre mage, and spectacularly boring and unimaginative. But I arrived as a lieutenant, so I was unfailingly polite, I obeyed his commands, I showed no signs of disrespect. I knew that Black would be waiting for me to step out of line, so I gave him no reason to complain.

Still, it wasn’t difficult to ‘convince’ Captain Agred to step aside and let me become captain instead. As Heiress, one of my own Aspects was **Persuade**. Heiress wasn’t a martial name; it had few uses in combat, but rather it was a Name intended for soft power. My Aspect **Persuade** gave a gentle touch, it allowed me to push people in certain directions.

Snake Company stood low-middling in the rankings when I joined, but the war games were held weekly. My very first match was against Hawk Company, yet it should go without saying that under my command Snake Company won the war game in a landslide victory.

Time was limited. I knew that all the while I took control of Snake Company, one Lieutenant Callow had just arrived into Rat Company. I had effectively a week until the decisive five-way games, and I wasted no time in remaking Snake Company in my own image.

I assigned Fadila to the mage lines, to try and unteach them of bad habits installed by the mage classes. I assigned Ghassan as commander of the heavies, while Barika and Fasili both stayed by me as my right and left hands. Of the two, Barika proved herself notably more useful. Fasili was the more competent, true, but he also occasionally chafed under my orders. Barika followed commands without complaint - and loyalty was often the most valuable trait.

And during that period, I devoted myself to absorbing military doctrine and strategy. Much as I was loath to admit it, my time bound to the Black Queen had made me realise that Catherine was the more talented strategist. It had been a failing on my part: originally, I had learnt of the Reformed Legions’ tactics only with disdain, but I had never truly appreciated them until I witnessed them in action during the war against the Dead King. I had little doubt that I could beat Catherine in a contest of wits or power, but as a military commander Catherine simply had more natural talent than I did. That was a weakness that I intended to correct.

And my second Aspect - **Study** \- helped greatly in that regard. My Aspects as Diabolist had been far more powerful, but **Study** remained one of my favourite Aspects. It was effectively the counterpart to Squire’s **Learn**. **Study** did not allow me to absorb masses of information like **Learn** could, but rather it granted me the ability to glean information I would not be able to see normally. I could use **Study** to read a person; to gain limited insight into their ambitions, motivations and levers. It had been a very useful Aspect throughout my time as Heiress, and I now pressed on it heavily as I adjusted to this new situation.

I sat in the captain's tent, pouring over scrolls, regulations and stock lists, when I saw Barika approach. She fumbled the Legion salute, I noticed with amusement.

“Lady Heiress,” Barika reported. “The tanner’s daughter has arrived.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

She left without a word. Barika didn't ask questions, which was one of the things I liked about her. I allowed myself a little smile.

It wouldn’t do to appear _too_ enthusiastic, so I waited a bit before I emerged. After a while, I exited my tent to see a mousy, brown-haired Callowan girl being escorted around the campsite. She was a fresh cadet in the War College, and she looked painfully out of place.

Abigail of Summerholm had an expression rather like a rabbit ready to bolt, as a large orc escorted her around the camp.

Yes, that was another little change I had manufactured from the original timeline. I remembered General Abigail’s history; that her family had lost her home when Catherine burnt down Summerholm, which had led to her reluctantly joining the Liesse Rebellion. This time, though, I sent an anonymous envelope of gold to Abigail’s family, along with an invitation for her to attend the War College in Ater. Abigail of Summerholm had probably thought that it had been some sort of threat, but she had come nonetheless. She did appear extraordinarily on-edge about the situation.

Afterwards, I sent out word that I was looking specifically for Callowan fresh blood to fill up Snake Company, and I arranged it such that Private Abigail ended up under my command.

It cost me little, but it was an investment. In the future, Catherine had often said that General Abigail was the most promising of the Callowan officers, yet that it was a shame that Abigail had never learnt the basics at the War College. And since I was such a kind and benevolent person, I decided to rectify that failing.

“Private Abigail,” I greeted. “Welcome to Snake Company.”

She turned and sputtered on the spot. Her mouth was quivering but no sound came out. Oh yes, I remember her doing that.

“You’re… you’re the Heiress,” Abigail managed.

“I am indeed,” I replied. “Though you will address me as ‘Captain Sahelian’ while we are here, private.”

“I…” Her mouth flapped like a fish. “Why am I here, Captain Sahelian?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll have your uses,” I said coolly, already turning around and walking away. “Our crockpots are running empty, for one.”

At that, Abigail withered into the ground, and the surrounding soldiers laughed. The orcs and goblins laughed louder and more raucously than was needed. I fancied I could see Abigail’s soul leaving her body.

 _Ok, Catherine_ , I conceded. _I understand why you kept her around._

I spent over a week with Snake Company and I kept myself busy, but in truth much of it felt like a distraction. I was waiting on the news I knew was coming, and counting down the days until I finally saw Catherine again.

And then it came, right on queue. My informants sent me word; the Squire was about to make her public debut before the Dread Empress and Praesi high society.


	4. Reminisce

_“To the noble High Lady of Kahtan, it has come to my attention of your steadfast resolve and loyalty in opposition to deceitful conspiracies, thus proving yourself to be a good friend of the Tower. As a reward for your leal service, I hereby declare that you are to be transformed into a three-headed dragon.”_

**– Dread Emperor Anima, the Last of the ‘Mayfly Emperors’**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Reminisce**

The Tower had never scared me. How could it, when I had been born and raised in its shadow? It was a hulking spire of dark stone that jutted out into perpetual storm clouds, filled with the worst horrors mankind had ever manufactured - but to me the sight had always been a sweet kind of nostalgic. I had been taught ever since I was a baby that it was my purpose to climb the tower and raise it a bit higher - and never once had I shied away from that task.

None of the horrors within - not the demonic Gatekeeper nor the Hall of Screams - had ever intimidated me. Inside the Tower, there were entire floors decorated in human skin and other atrocities, but those had not bothered me one iota. Taste and decency had nothing to do with it - I had long believed that it was the right of those on top to dominate those below. Anyone who disagreed could either make the climb themselves, or fall silent. Law was a luxury of the strong.

And I still believed that, to be honest. The Tower was in my bones.

The Imperial Court gathered on the twenty-fourth floor of the Tower, and I arrived early along with the other High Lords and High Ladies. Black Knight would arrive fashionably late - as he always did - while the rest of the Imperial Court gathered in the ballroom. The servants served extravagantly poisoned food and fine wine, musicians filled the air with soft, serene music, while the nobility danced and mingled over the black marble floor. Silk drapes of red, green and gold cascaded down from the high, arched ceiling, granting the scene a rich, unearthly shimmer.

The crowd of highborn made a stunning sight. Tunics and dresses of every colour and every pattern were on display, each one crafted from silk and brocade, velour and velvet and half a dozen other rich cloths. The hair styles for both men and women were extravagantly elaborate, from braids with emeralds woven into them to a closely-cropped head with ever-changing arcane patterns shaved into it. There were Taghreb and Soninke both, and the overwhelming majority of the people inside were humans. There were but a handful of orcs, and no goblins at all.

And above us all, the Dread Empress Malicia sat on her throne - as stunningly beautiful as ever, watching over the pleasantries with a smile and a keen eye. She watched over us as a keeper might tend to a school of piranhas: although Malicia laughed and japed, she never once let her guard down. We dressed colourfully and chattered in good spirits, but would eat her alive given half the chance.

As a Named and reputable member of the Praesi nobility, I was in my natural habitat. I danced, I mingled, and I waited.

And then - weeks after my return to this timeline - I finally saw Catherine again.

The Squire entered alongside Black Knight and Captain, wearing ill-fitting black armour, and trailing a cloak that was a diminutive copy of her mentor’s. She was twitching uncomfortably at her collar, her clothes didn't quite fit her. Catherine almost bowed before the Dread Empress but Black Knight stopped her, and then a murmur of quiet amusement passed through the crowd as she made a painfully awkward introduction.

It was her first debut before the Imperial Court, and it was cringeworthy as the first time I saw it. Honestly, Black may as well have painted a target on her back.

I was amused while watching her, but for very different reasons than the others were. Gods Below, I had forgotten how cute Catherine looked in her uniform. She lacked the presence and stature that she would later grow into, and right now she still looked like a little girl dressed up in her parent’s clothing. She was even short enough to pass for a child.

I remembered Catherine as the Black Queen - as the fearsome warrior-queen clad in the Mantle of Woe, leaning over a gnarly staff with two Goddesses of Night perched on her shoulder. I remembered her at her peak, as the greatest villain of the era, who single-handedly reshaped Calernia and crushed whole armies in her wake.

Yet that was the Catherine of then. The Catherine of now she was still sixteen years old - short, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed. Like a little kitten. So terribly out of place and trying not to show it. It made me want to pinch her little cheek - and I had to hide my grin at the thought.

I did not approach straight away - I couldn’t appear too eager. I let Black Knight and Malicia have their little moment of theatre, and I was patient. Soon enough, Black left to harass the High Lady of Kahtan, leaving Squire to mingle on her own. The first thing Catherine reached for was the wine, only to look quite despondent as she realised that everything served in the Imperial Court was poisoned.

Then, Catherine found Juniper - another captain from the War College - standing by the banquet table, sniffing around the pork cutlets. It made sense that they would seek each other out, considering they were both being politely but noticeably shunned from by Court. To many of the High Lords, neither Callowans nor greenskins were welcome here. I saw my chance, I straightened my hair, and I approached from behind.

“Good evening, Captain Callow,” I greeted in a silky voice. “Captain Juniper.”

Catherine turned, and her gaze darkened as soon as she saw me. Yeah, considering the circumstances of our previous meeting (in her timeline), I hadn’t been expecting any sort of warm welcome.

Catherine instinctively inched closer to Juniper, who frowned but kept herself stoic. I tried to approach non-threateningly - I was alone, even though usually I would have had a posse gathered around myself during these affairs.

“Captain Sahelian,” Catherine replied stiffly. “Or is it Captain Heiress?”

“Akua is fine,” I allowed, tilting my head.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Why, where else would I be?” I laughed, with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I’m a regular attendee of these such soirees - but they’re mostly fairly dull.”

Dull besides from the occasional conspiracy and assassination, of course.

“I meant why are you here, with us?” Catherine countered.

I met at her dark brown eyes directly. “Merely to chatter with some colleagues,” I lied. “After all, we are all comrades in the College, are we not?”

Catherine bore an expression of clear disbelief. She was waiting for the other shoe to fall, most likely.

“I heard that you took over Snake Company,” Juniper noted, looking towards me with faint curiosity mixed with quiet suspicion. “What happened to Agred?”

“Lieutenant Agred decided to step aside,” I said casually. “We agreed that some restructuring was in order.”

Juniper nodded. “Snake Company has always had issues. Too many mage lines and not enough sappers,” Juniper remarked. “Which works fine on open ground, but they suffer in any other type of battle.”

“Suppose it's easy to take control when you can buy your way in,” Catherine said, her face still thick with distrust.

I could have countered that barb - after all, Catherine herself had only been enrolled at the College for less a week and was also captain already - but instead I chose to let the comment pass. I smiled, tilted my head, and raised my hands in a placating manner.

“I had hoped to put such unpleasantries behind us, Catherine,” I said with a sweet smile, matching Catherine’s suspicion. “In fact, I come bearing a peace offering.” At that, I dug into my dress and pulled out a glass vial containing a clear, alchemical fluid. “This is an antidote for the food and wine - I suspected you might not have brought one.”

Catherine only snorted. “And you really think it’s really going to be that easy to poison me?” she said, looking sceptically towards the offered vial.

I sighed despondently. “Suit yourself,” I replied, and I popped open the vial and drank the antidote myself. After that, I shimmied my way past Catherine, and helped myself to a pork cutlet from the banquet table.

Through the corner of my eye, I noticed Catherine and Juniper share a disconcerting look. That’s right - I was here being _nice_. I could be nice when I wanted to. I had deliberately made my approach non-antagonising; I had insulted no one, nor had I behaved arrogantly, and I had even extended an olive branch. Anyone watching (and doubtless many of them were) would be shocked at the Heiress’ mild behaviour.

But that, of course, was the point. Catherine knew how to snap back against insults or threats, but niceties were sure to take her off-guard. She hadn’t learnt how to mask her expression yet, and I saw the befuddlement pass over her features.

“It occurs to me that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” I said, as I picked up a chalice from a servant and took a sip of poisoned wine.

“Last time we saw each other, you threatened to kill me and burn an orphanage down,” Catherine accused in a level tone.

I merely chuckled as if that had been a casual joke. “Look at you around you,” I challenged. “Do you think anyone in this room would have done any less?”

“So what?” Catherine scoffed. “That makes you the kindest monster of the bunch?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m just the most upfront about my nature. I have never lied to you, Squire.”

Catherine’s lips curled in a sneer; I could see the disdain in her eyes. She hated Praesi nobility as a matter of principle - she always had.

“And you think that excuses your actions?” she demanded.

My own lips twitched into a smirk.

“Of course not,” I replied smoothly. “But justifications only matter to the just.”

Oh, now _that_ startled her. I saw Catherine blink, clearly taken off-guard by the turn of phrase. Juniper looked confused - not comprehending the meaning behind those words. But Catherine’s eyes twitched - she must have already come up with her motto, even before she had placed those words on her banners. Catherine had yet to coin those words, but I still knew them.

Gods Below, I could read her like a book. Right now Catherine was thinking; _how could Akua know those words? Can she read my mind? Is she using an Aspect?_

I chuckled knowingly, and took another sip of wine. I wasn’t looking forward to this part, but it had to be done. Catherine needed a nemesis - that was the only way the future would work.

“At the Blessed Isle, I had been _trying_ to do you a kindness, you know. I offered you a way out,” I said, my voice thick with sympathy. I addressed her like a poor, unfortunate orphan girl. “I had hoped to avoid this sight right here. You don’t belong here, Catherine. I know it, you know it, and everyone here knows it.”

Squire growled at me, but I could tell she was still reeling from the shock of having her own words used against her. “You feeling sour because Black picked me over you?” she scoffed. “It must hurt for you to come second place.”

I shook my head sadly. “You’ve done nothing to deserve that honour. You are an experiment, Cat, a curiosity for Black. A monkey dressed in silk does not make a lord, and an orphan girl from the streets of Laure does not make a Squire.”

She stepped closer, trying to loom despite the height difference between us. Oh, she was no kitten - more like an angry little wolverine.

“Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t inherit everything from a rich parent,” Catherine retorted. “But I’ve had to fight for what I have.”

I laughed as if she had just told a jape. “Is that so?” I chuckled. “But you were _given_ your Name by Black. At least I had to compete to become Heiress, yet you received yours on a silver platter - and you’d be nothing if not for him.”

“Four corpses in Summerholm would disagree,” she snarled, yet I detected the signs of vulnerability there too. I had seven years of knowledge over her - I knew her pressure-points better than she did. The Black Queen wouldn’t have been provoked so easily, but this Catherine hadn’t learned those lessons yet.

“Oh _bravo_. Your one success - fighting off some miscreants, burning half a city down, and allowing a hero to escape,” I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. I clapped one hand sardonically and took a sip of wine with the other. “The sheer hypocrisy! You think _I’m_ a monster, but how many innocent people died because of your actions in Summerholm? Do you even remember the names of those who were hung?”

The very mention of those people who were executed made her flinch. That was a wound that was still raw to her, and I could poke it mercilessly. This girl before me wasn’t the Black Queen. It was so fucking easy to tear her apart, and I’d be lying if it i said it wasn’t also a bit enjoyable.

Around us, many of the nobility were watching through the corner of their eyes, and Juniper backed away cautiously. I smiled and leaned inwards, my voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Come on, be honest,” I whispered, “where would you actually be right now if Black hadn’t found you and _handed_ you that knife? Just another little girl, raped in an alleyway -”

At that, Catherine finally snapped. Her fist lashed out, smacking me straight in the jaw. A brawler’s punch. It was a heavy blow - it would certainly bruise.

I saw the punch coming - I could have countered it, but I chose not to. I actually leaned into the punch, and then toppled backwards for maximum dramatic impact. As I dropped, the goblet of wine ‘fell’ out of my hands, splashing its contents all over Squire.

I collapsed bodily onto the black marble floor, while Catherine was left standing above me, soaked in poisoned wine. The chalice clattered over the stone. The music came to a grinding halt. The crowd turned to mutter and stare - several young heirs surged forward to help pick me up off the floor.

Catherine liked to settle matters with her fists - she had been _wanting_ me to fight back. Instead, I did the exact opposite; I played the part of a helpless damsel, and left Catherine looking like a bully. The Squire was standing over me, and I saw in her gaze the very moment she realised that she had been baited.

 _I’m sorry, Catherine, but this is a mistake you needed to learn_.

Several of the onlookers stepped forward as if to restrain the Squire, but I just held up my hand to stop them. I laughed with a throaty chuckle.

“And once again, the barbarian proves her nature!” I announced loudly, pulling myself up off the floor. I waved the crowd to step away from her. “It’s quite alright, we shouldn’t expect anything different from one such as her.”

Catherine flustered, still soaked in wine. I had taken a fall, but she had come off looking far worse. All of those who had been watching would know that I had approached in a friendly manner, and that Squire had punched me in the jaw.

“How very typical. You comport yourself like a thug and still expect to rack up honours and commands,” I said with a disappointed sigh, shaking my head. “You prove yourself unworthy of the promotion you are being given.”

“And what promotion would that be?” my ‘rival’ challenged. “The one where my company in the College named me captain by acclaim?”

I dismissed that with a flick of my wrist. “I speak, of course, of the request made for your commission as the head of the Fifteenth Legion,” I replied.

Catherine did a bad job of keeping her face blank. This was likely the first she had even heard about the Fifteenth Legion. Black had assembled plans for the Fifteenth specifically for her, but he hadn’t shared his intentions yet. Still, Catherine had always been loath to reveal her ignorance.

“Think you’re the one who deserves it, do you?” she tried to counter.

My smile widened. _Too easy, Catherine, too easy_.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I purred. “What have you done to deserve such an appointment? The ruins of Summerholm speak plainly to your temperament, and you’ve proved it again now.”

There were murmurs from the onlookers, and accusatory stares towards Squire. We Praesi thought nothing of assassinations with jewelled daggers and poisons, but to _punch_ someone in the middle of a ball was just so uncouth. The very action made sure I had plenty of support behind me.

Then, there was movement. I felt her presence more than I saw it - it was an instinctive feeling as the sea of aristocrats parted for the bigger fish. Dread Empress Malicia sauntered into the scene, as elegance personified, with Black Knight trailing behind her like a shadow.

Malicia paused only briefly as she measured what was happening; the spilled wine, my ruffled dress, the bruise over my chin and Catherine’s fluster.

“My, my,” Malicia murmured. “Such spirited youths we have in attendance tonight. What seems to be the problem, my dears?”

I turned and quickly knelt down to the ground, but Catherine did not. Of course not, she was Black’s protege and she couldn’t - wouldn’t - kneel. She had to remain standing, even as the more intelligent swathes of the nobility knelt before their Empress. The display of deference was useful - it played well into my image. I could turn a mark of lower status into a useful tool.

“Your Majesty,” I spoke before rising back to my feet. “I was merely questioning the fitness of this… Callowan to command Praesi legionaries.”

A murmur of approval rose among the nobles. This was my crowd, and I was going to milk that for all it was worth. Squire looked painfully aware that she had no friends present who would speak for her. Black was her greatest ally here, but Black couldn’t be seen to be coddling her. Black Knight was doubtless watching intently, but he would not intervene to save her from a rookie mistake.

The last time I orchestrated this scene, I had made a mistake by including Fasili and Barika by my side. I had tried to gang up on Squire with numbers, but Fasili and his loud mouth had nearly ruined it. This time though, it had gone so much smoother - I had the advantage from the beginning. I knew her weak spots, I knew exactly how it would unfold and I had prepared accordingly.

This time, Catherine couldn’t even point to her attendance at the War College because I was attending the War College too. She was stuck, outmanoeuvred.

“She provoked me into punching her, Your Majesty,” Catherine protested, but that must have sounded lame even to her.

I scoffed, rubbing at my jaw. “Does it not speak poorly of one who would call herself ‘general’, to possess so little self-control?” I challenged, and Catherine flustered because she knew she had been played. “I fear that many here bear doubts about her fitness to command.”

There were murmurs and nods from the crowd. That was what Catherine had yet to learn. This was not just a conversation; it was a duel of words instead of blades. We were fighting not for blood, but image and reputation. Often that was more important than blood.

“You have a solution in mind, Heiress,” the Empress smiled. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I do,” I agreed. “To keep things interesting, I would propose a wager.”

The Empress cast an interested look between the both of us. “You have my attention.”

“Another war game,” I announced. “Both Squire and I attend the War College, and we should settle the matter on the field. In older times, the College once held grand five-way melees. If Squire is to command, I would have her prove her worth. Isn’t that the way of our Legions, Your Majesty?”

I turned to her, and my rival’s smile turned sour.

“One sin, one grace,” I quoted softly.

I saw her fingers clench around the pommel of her sword. Catherine must have known she was being played, but she didn’t know how to stop it. An outburst from her would only play further into my hands.

“And what, pray tell,” the Empress prompted, “should be the stakes of this wager?”

“If she wins, she can lead the Fifteenth Legion,” I proposed. “But if I win, I would ask that for the slights she has given me, Catherine Foundling’s appointment be made mine.” I turned and passed the attention back to her. “Is that acceptable, Catherine?”

“Fine by me,” she growled, fury burning in her eyes.

“Grand,” I smiled. “But I am not entirely heartless, and I think it’s only fair that a loser should have a chance to improve herself. Let us really make it interesting - shall we say that whomever is defeated should also be assigned to the Fifteenth, as an officer under the command of the winner?”

At that, Catherine’s eyes widened. A susurration ran through the gathering of nobles as they realised my intent. If I won, then Squire would report to me, and if I lost then I would report to her. Only one of us would be the commanding officer of the Fifteenth, and from then onwards any disobedience would be a violation worthy of a court martial. The winner would be able to effectively control the loser’s future in the Legions.

“Hmm, that _does_ sound interesting,” Malicia mused, tapping her chin with a slender finger as her eyes raked the crowd.

I was not fooled by the Empress’ beauty. I could see the intellect behind her face weighing the advantages and disadvantages, what the throne could gain and lose by allowing this to proceed. She scanned the crowd idly, but she was looking for one person in particular.

Half-hidden among the faces, I noticed Lord Black give a barely perceptible nod. A moment later, the Empress returned her attention to us.

“It will be so,” the Empress declared, and this time there was iron in her voice. “In two days hence, with the outlined stakes.”

At that, the Dread Empress clapped her hands and the music began playing. The crowd began to murmur as they moved away. _We Praesi do love a good wager_. I glanced towards Catherine, who was still standing there rigidly on the spot, wine-soaked and furious. She glowered at me with an expression of pure hatred.

“Best of luck in the games, Squire,” I said with an earnest smile.

__

Catherine departed quickly, but I mingled for a while amongst the lords and ladies. I received various compliments and offers of support from many members of the Trueblood faction of the Imperial Court. The manner in which I made a fool of Squire proved to be quite popular among the High Lords, although that hadn’t been my intention in the slightest. Still, I indulged in the polite small talk and I offered vague suggestions of alliances, until eventually the party wound down and the Imperial Court began to filter away. I took my own leave, and started the slow descent back down the Tower.

 _Overall, it had been successful_ , I reflected. Events had unfolded in mostly the same manner as in the original timeline, but with a few key differences. The five-way games would still happen at the same moment, but this time I would be commanding one of those companies. If Squire wanted to have her Fifteenth, then she would have to go through _me_.

From here onwards, everything would hinge on how well Snake Company performed during the games, though I had a few advantages myself. Most importantly, I knew Catherine's strategy - I had seen her faced with this situation before, I knew how she would react. The stakes were higher now, but if I could -

“Heiress,” a dry voice called. “A word.”

I did not show my startle outwardly, but I tensed. I stood outside on the balcony in the cool night air, while the Black Knight was behind, quietly leaning against a twisted black gargoyle. I hadn’t even noticed him waiting there. For a man so blunt, he could be very covert when wanted to be.

His face was an impassive mask, but his gaze was sharp.

“Lord Black,” I greeted with a smile. “How may I serve?”

He straightened slowly, and inspected me with cold green eyes. I was taller than he was, but Black Knight had a presence that still allowed him to loom. Something about his eyes had always reminded me of a fish. Or a lizard, perhaps. Definitely something cold-blooded.

“Very well, I will bite,” Black said with a sigh. “What is your game?”

“I do not understand,” I lied.

He smiled humourlessly, and took a step closer. I did not back away.

“I’ve always considered you clever, Heiress. Clever - but also very predictable. You take after your mother in that regard,” Black Knight mused. He paused. “But I’ll admit it, what you are doing now was not predicted.”

 _Yes, and that must bother you, hmm?_ Lord Black did not like the unpredictable.

From his perspective, it had been doubtless that I would try to seize command of the Fifteenth Legion. He must have known that I would challenge Catherine for its control - we were nemeses, after all. He had likely even orchestrated that much, with the view that adversity would help Squire grow stronger.

But it was my other behaviour that must be troubling him. First my joining the War College, and now my wager the loser would be placed under the command of the winner. But I had departed from my usual modus operandi; I had set this wager with higher stakes than I needed to, and I had put myself directly at risk.

Lord Black did not understand why I would want Catherine to work under me, nor why I would risk ever being assigned working for Catherine. I had deliberately put a lot of risk on myself for relatively little gain, and he likely could not figure it out. For a creature like Black, uncertainty must feel like torment.

Black saw people as cogs and gears - he tried to characterise and then simplify them. But my behaviour was different - to him I was a cog out of place.

I met his gaze, and I smiled.

“Is it too much to believe that I genuinely want myself and Catherine to be friends?” I attempted.

He cast me a dark look, and I was reminded that - if he had his way - he would push me off the Tower without a second thought. Despite myself, there was a slight tingle down my spine, and I remembered that time when I had truly been afraid of him. The man who killed my father, Malicia’s long-time hunting dog.

“Just watch yourself,” Black whispered. “Never forget that the only reason your family still lives is due to Malicia’s restraint, not mine.”

With that, he turned and began walking away. He clearly had nothing more to say. I smiled woodenly at his back.

“The lack of trust you hold towards me is heart-breaking, Lord Black,” I called out to him. I tilted my head. “But perhaps I could extend a peace offering between us?”

There was no response, nor did he even turn back around or break step.

“Do you remember those little golden stripes Malicia gifted to the Legion veterans who fought with distinction at the Fields of Streges?” I called out, although I kept my voice low. No one without Name-enhanced hearing would be able to hear the words. “Forty-three in total - she gave one to every legate and above, I believe. Prepared by the Empress’ own hand, even.”

At that, Black finally stopped walking. He did not react, not straight away, and he showed nothing on his face - but I knew he was listening intently. The implication was clear from my voice.

“Perhaps your friend Warlock should take a closer look at one of those stripes, Lord Black,” I whispered softly.

 _I wonder if he knows, deep down_ , I mused. Five years in the future - when we learned about Malicia’s hidden mind control hooks - Black had certainly accepted the situation quickly enough. I wondered whether he had always known what Malicia was capable of. He definitely did not trust me either, but it mattered not - now that the seeds were sown, he _would_ investigate on his own.

Black Knight turned towards me with an unreadable stare, and I gave him a mock-clandestine wink. With that, I walked away in the opposite direction. A little grain of sand began to topple like the prelude to an avalanche. I hummed the tune of ‘The Girl Who Climbed the Tower’ under my breath as I strolled down the black marble steps.


	5. Regulate

_“I’ll give you three guesses as to what I am going to do next.”_

**– Dread Emperor Anima, shortly before transforming into a three-headed dragon**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Regulate**

“Well met, Captain Juniper,” I greeted, as the tall orc stood outside my tent. “Would you like a drink?”

I held the door open for her, beckoning the Hellhound into my captain’s tent. Juniper of the Red Shields was so tall that her short-cropped hair brushed against the top flap. Fasili walked alongside her - having escorted the captain from the First Company campsite - and he lingered by the entrance, but I simply shook my head and dismissed him.

Juniper stood stoically and looked around the inside. My own tent was furnished with far more gold, finery and expensive books than most cadets in the College could own. I moved towards a small table, where I had several large decanters of wine and crystal glasses.

“I do happen to have a sample of an orcish _havkg_ ,” I offered. “A very old orcish vintage - pre-Miezan, even. Would you care to partake?”

Havkg was a very expensive vintage too - though more for its novelty rather than taste. The orcs had stopped brewing havkg several hundred years ago now; it was one of the many things which had been lost after the collapse of orc culture during the Miezan occupation. Aragh was the now staple drink of the orcs, but that was more like cheap grog - while havkg was the closest equivalent the orcs had ever had to fine wine.

That didn’t mean it was a _pleasant_ drink, but it was an acquired taste among certain circles of the aristocracy. Mother often said that havkg tasted like the collapse of civilisation.

“I think I'll pass,” Juniper replied in a dour tone.

“As you wish,” I said with a shrug, as I poured myself a glass of Miezan gold.

There were seats available, but Juniper remained standing. Her arms were folded. I met her gaze with a smile, but she did not return it. _This might be the very first time that I’ve ever been in a room with Juniper alone_ , I considered. We had interacted only sparingly even when I had been bound to Catherine’s side, and before then not at all. I could not recall ever doing anything to offend her (you know, besides the obvious plagues of undead, summoning demons and opening Hellgates) but still she regarded me now with barely-veiled hostility. Then again, I was the daughter of a High Lady, and she of an orc general - of course there would be no fondness between us.

There was a pause as we both stood and measured the other up. She wore standard Legion armour, while I was dressed in a plain wool jumper and breeches. I had decided to forgo the silk dresses for today.

“So…” Juniper said half-musingly. “Is this the part where you try to bribe me?”

I merely laughed. “Of course not. Quite the opposite, in fact.” I took a seat, and picked up a book from the writing table. “I invited you here because I would like you to have a look at _this_.”

I set the book open at a certain page, and showed it to her in demonstration. The book was the complete, unabridged regulations of Imperial Legions of Doom, in all their bureaucratic glory. One section in particular I had circled in advance.

“Please note the Imperial War College regulations VI-III, Section A,” I said, pointing out the associated text. “Where it makes specific mention that although temporary alliances during war games are permitted, any offers or promises of recompense which extend outside of the simulated field of battle and then influence of result of the games are strictly forbidden. And as a subsidiary of the Legions of Dread, the cadets of the War College are subject to the same regulations regarding military discipline and anti-corruption,” I recited. “Or to put it succinctly, if any cadet accepts a bribe during the games, then that act will justify a dishonourable discharge.”

I took a sip of wine, crossing my legs as I leaned backwards in my seat. “After all, war games such as these are supposed to be _fair_ ,” I remarked with a smirk.

Juniper did not react straight. She paused, glancing only passingly at the book and then looking up and my expression. “And you are telling me this _why_ , Captain Sahelian?”

“Well, between you and me,” I said surreptitiously, “I fear that Captain Callow intends to cheat in the games tomorrow.”

“Really,” Juniper said, and her voice was as dry as the Wasteland itself. “Captain Callow intends that.”

I nodded sagely. “You and I both know that if Squire wins, she stands to become the head of the Fifteenth Legion,” I explained. “And I have my suspicions that she intends to offer one of the captains a high-ranking position in the Fifteenth Legion - on the condition that they agree to ally or draw with Rat Company during the games. Such a thing is, of course, against the rules in this college.”

“Cooperation between companies is allowed,” Juniper noted.

“That is true.” I nodded. In fact, cooperation and partnerships between companies were encouraged. The War College attempted to simulate real warfare, and teaching their cadets to manage alliances was an element of that. The companies were expected to joust for alliances in order to put themselves ahead. “But cooperation in return for _bribes_ is not. That is why I have recruited impartial observers who will be closely monitoring tomorrow’s games closely via scrying, to ensure that no such underhanded dealings take place.”

The Hellhound made a throaty sound - like half a grunt and half a scoff. “And why do you think Captain Callow will make such an offer to me?” Juniper growled, bearing her fangs somewhat.

 _Because I’ve seen it happen_. I raised my hands placatingly. “Mere intuition. Doubtless you will have noticed that Catherine has wagered _eighty-four_ points in the coming war games, and that is twice as many as Rat Company is in the negative. In case of a draw, she would receive half that amount,” I explained. “This implies that Catherine is seeking a draw, and it also implies she needs someone to draw with. I wouldn’t put it past her to resort to underhanded techniques to do so.

“It is disappointing that I have to have this conversation,” I said with a heavy sigh. “But I feel Catherine is just not as principled as I am.”

That statement was - in its own way - factually correct.

“I see,” Juniper snorted. “And I suppose you’ve had this talk with the other captains too?”

“I have. Please don’t misunderstand - I’m not trying to _threaten_ you, Captain Juniper. I would never,” I reassured, hand on my chest, phrasing it as if I were doing her a kindness. “I only wished to warn you. If - Heavens forbid - Catherine did try to offer you any sort of reward - well…” I sighed and shook my head. “You could face a tribunal for accepting. Perhaps as the Squire, Catherine would be able to avoid consequences, but you wouldn’t have the same protection. It would be _so_ unfair for you to lose such a promising career all because of the Squire’s underhanded tactics.”

Juniper clearly didn’t buy that my motivation was truly her own well-being, but that didn’t matter. The warning was clear, and Juniper was too shrewd to ignore it.

In all my original timeline, Catherine had ‘won’ only after convincing Captain Juniper to a draw - and by promising to make Juniper a legate in the Fifteenth if she agreed to it. Now, the College _did_ actually have anti-bribery laws which were supposed to ban that sort of match-manipulation, but in practice those rules were on paper more than actually enforced. Black certainly would have had no inclination to call her out on it.

But this time, I pre-empted the attempt, and I leveraged the influence of Wolof to ensure that there would be arbiters watching. There would be a lot of eyes on tomorrow’s game, and Catherine wouldn’t be able to succeed in the same way again.

And now Juniper knew it too. That meant that if Catherine made that same offer to Juniper, then Juniper would have no choice except to deny it and engage the Rat Company in battle. Even the appearance otherwise would leave Juniper vulnerable to accusations of bribery. Juniper was too much of a soldier to ever put her career at risk over such a thing.

The Hellhound stood, tilted her head, and considered the situation. Likely she had suspected Catherine’s plan of ending in a draw as well. But with this one conversation, I had neutered Catherine’s endgame before she even had a chance to implement it.

“Yes.” Juniper nodded. “I think I understand.”

“Grand,” I said with a smile, and I stepped forward to shake her hand. “Never let it be said that contenders cannot be civil with each other. I wish you all the best in the games tomorrow, Captain Juniper.”

She shook my hand with a grip so tight that a lesser person might have winced. I was the height of polite decorum as I escorted her to the door.

As she left, the Hellhound glanced back at me with a quizzical frown. She had clearly been expecting more than that. And true, I could have presented Juniper with an offer of alliance of my own, but I had chosen not to. The proposal from me would have most likely been very received poorly, and I had no need for it. I did not plan on allying with First Company myself - I just had to make sure that Juniper could not ally with Catherine.

I was under no illusions: Catherine and Rat Company were my rivals tomorrow, but Juniper and First Company were still the ones to beat. Juniper would be the single most talented strategist on the field, and her First Company were the most trained and disciplined of the cadets. They were all-round experts, the reigning champions of the War College. Snake Company were mage specialists who had their own bag of tricks - but if they had to fight the Hellhound directly, then in all likelihood it would be my loss.

But Juniper was no fool. She knew there would be two Named on the field tomorrow, which meant we’d be guaranteed to come into combat with each other. I suspected that Juniper intended on letting me and Catherine fight it out and then sweeping in for her own victory.

Still, that meant that the remaining two captains in the five-way games would be the deciding factors; Captain Morok of Lizard Company, and Captain Aisha Bishara of Wolf Company. And speaking of which…

I sat by my desk, pulled out a small gold scrying mirror, and spoke the activation words. The reflection changed, and I was greeted by the image of an ugly, green-skinned orc holding the mirror far too close to his nostrils.

“Morok,” I greeted. “How goes it?”

“Heiress,” Captain Morok returned with a grunt. “You were right. Callow came to me and made an offer. She threatened to hand all of her munitions to Juniper if I didn’t agree.”

Good, that bit hadn’t changed. I had been worried that the timeline divergences would lead to Catherine modifying her plan, but so far her actions had been fairly consistent with what I remembered.

Catherine had gone to Captain Morok first, but I had been way ahead of her. I had even gifted Captain Morok with his own scrying mirror, so that we could communicate privately without anyone being the wiser. For most people, scrying mirrors were priceless heirlooms, but as Heiress of Wolof I had enough artifacts to spare.

“And what did you do?” I asked.

“I played along - just like you told me too.”

“Perfect.” Mind, Morok was not a talented actor, I considered. There was a fairly good chance that Catherine would have seen straight through him, but I had accounted for that too. “Although you should know that Callow has made that same offer to Captain Aisha. They are planning on targeting you first; Rat and Wolf will ambush you together.”

“ _Aisha_?” Morok’s face twisted in anger. “That sneaky little…”

“It makes no difference,” I continued smoothly. “Aisha intends to betray Rat Company for the Hellhound. We must turn the tables on them both.”

He muttered something foul in a crude dialect of Kharsum. “… Is there anyone in these games who is _not_ planning on betraying someone else?” Morok asked.

I actually had to stop and consider the question. “Define ‘betrayed’,” I said finally.

He only scoffed. “And what do you want us to do?” Morok demanded.

“Go along with Callow’s plan. Meet up with Rat Company as you said you would, and _do not_ make any move against her,” I instructed. “You will play the part of Callow’s perfect ally, understood?”

He grumbled, but nodded. “And then?”

“And then I will be there too.”

I outlined my plan, and he listened closely. I did not tell him _all_ of my plan, but I described his part in enough detail that there would be more no misunderstandings. Morok was not stupid. He was not particularly intelligent either, but he was a capable commander in his own right. He would play his role, and even if he failed… well, there were contingencies in place.

When I was done, he bared his fangs, and nodded. “As you say,” he grunted. “Wade in their blood.”

I smiled, put down the mirror, and cancelled the link.

I was quite confident that Aisha would ally with Juniper as she had originally, but I had made sure that Captain Morok of Lizard Company belonged to me body and soul. 

As it happened, Morok originated from an old bloodline in the Steppes - an orc clan which had fallen from prominence ever since the meteoric rise of Grem One-Eye. After a few discreet suggestions and offers of support from Wolof, I had ensured that Morok understood explicitly that his clan stood to gain massively if he helped Snake Company defeat Rat Company in the games tomorrow. Morok was a brute of low cunning but great ambition - exactly the sort of tool which I excelled in manipulating. After the offers I had made to him (none of which could lead back to me), Morok would be more interested in ensuring my victory rather than his own.

The last time, Catherine had managed to win only after playing the other companies against each other until she could strike a deal with Juniper. I had ensured that that wouldn’t happen again.

I leaned back, considered all my plans and machinations, and sighed.

“Your move, Catherine,” I whispered to the night’s sky. "Now what will you do?"

Rat Company would find no allies on the field tomorrow, but Catherine herself perhaps hadn’t realised that yet. When the situation settled in, it would make her desperate, and I would enjoy seeing her struggle.

I felt a thrill of excitement with the thought. Tomorrow, I would face Squire on the battlefield and I realised that I was genuinely looking forward to the experience. The last time we fought, she had ripped out my heart.

 _I think I will enjoy having the Squire as my subordinate_ , I mused. Despite what she thought of me presently, my intentions towards her weren’t _cruel_ \- I held no true animosity against Catherine. She was not my nemesis anymore. Entirely the opposite, actually. If I took control of the Fifteenth, I would treat her like an equal, I would forge common ground with her - in much the same way she had done to me. The bond between us would grow in time.

And together, we would discover how many of our interests were actually aligned. Although she did not yet realise it, Catherine actually had as much reason to oppose both High Lady Tasia and Dread Empress Malicia as I did.

 _We will make a good pair together_ , I mused. We already had in the future, but this time I would make sure it happened sooner. Black Queen Catherine Foundling and Dread Empress Akua Sahellian, ruling two nations side by side. 

Gods Above help anyone who tried to stand against us.

* * *

I awoke early, made the last few preparations, and readied myself for the games.

The College instructors had us assemble in the yards in front of a large stone tablet - a different one for every company - and each cadet dripped a few drops of blood onto it. The headmistress had mentioned it was intended to recreate the fog of war, but she didn't elaborate. Still, I recognised the spell bound in the stone: the working was hundreds of years old, crude and primitive, but still reliable. A memory sealing device.

As soon as the blood soaked into the stone, the world turned foggy. The cadets of Snake Company began to stumble as if in a trance, while the instructors commanded us to link our hands while they escorted us out onto the fields to our designated starting position.

I was the only member of Snake Company who retained my memories of that period. That was one of the advantages of my training and breeding - I had conditioned my mind to be more resilient against such influences. I was not entirely immune to the blood trance, but I remembered myself being escorted around as if I were a passenger in my own body. It was rather like being extremely drunk.

And gradually, the blood magic wore off. As I regained control, I straightened with a grimace, flexed my limbs, and stared out over the rocky plain.

It was still early morning - dawn was only just rising over the sky. Behind me Snake Company was spread out in a marching column – most of them still looking dazed. To the west the rocks rose in a slope and led into a canyon I could barely make out. There was a forest of tall dragon trees and ferns to the north, growing progressively thicker. The east was closer to what I’d expected of the Wasteland; badlands of silt and shale forming tall rocky outcroppings that cut my line of sight.

I came into consciousness sooner than anyone else. I found Barika and Fadila first, and summoned a spark of magic on the palm of my hands to zap against their skulls.

“Arise,” I ordered, as they both jolted awake.

Fadila stumbled, blinked and cursed under her breath. “The blood trance?” she asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Wake the others as soon as possible. The mage lines first.”

We would have an advantage here, though not much of one. As mages, we could dispel the effects of the trance a bit faster than most. It would give us a slight head start, and I intended to make the most of that.

But strangely, I noticed that Abigail of Summerholm was one of the first to recover from the trance, though I could not explain why. Perhaps it was due to her superior mental fortitude - though admittedly that sentiment was hard to parse with how Private Abigail began stumbling around, clutching her head and whining at the blank spot in her memories. "Didn't agree to this…" I overheard her stammering. "Did _not_ agree to this… "

I pushed Snake Company to ready themselves quickly. It was still only sunrise, and I already knew the position that I wanted. 

“Our munitions in order?” I asked of Lieutenant Agred.

“Yes. We have the Siege template.” Agred paused. That meant we had taken the maximum number of sharpers and heavy explosives, but at the cost of very few smokers, bright sticks and other useful munitions. The lieutenant did seem reassured by my choice. “Although we don’t have enough sappers to use them effectively,” he added.

“It will work.” I nodded. “Gather up the lines. There’s a hill over that way by the trees, and we will fortify it. Have the sappers start building barricades, I want everyone else chopping trees or digging trenches.”

That order caught some stares. “We’re hunkering down?” Ghassan asked.

“Right now, we play defence,” I confirmed.

They obeyed my command, but with clear doubts. Which was understandable too: Snake Company featured only a single line of sappers - ten goblins - and fully fortifying an entire camp was a lot to ask of so few.

We weren’t set up for that sort of battle, in truth. Usually Snake Company preferred to fight in the open where our fireballs had the most impact, rather than holed up behind barricades. We _could_ do it, but we wouldn’t be even as half as effective as a company with a full dedicated sapper division. I doubted if our cadets had much experience with building barricades beyond the very basics taught in classes.

“We’ll make a target of ourselves fortifying this hill,” Ghassan warned me in a low voice. Of all my followers, he was the most military-minded. “And our soldiers aren’t trained properly for this sort of battle. The Hellhound will tear through these fortifications like wet paper.”

 _That’s the idea_. “I am aware, lieutenant. Carry on.”

The shoddy barricades would be useful in delaying her. And perhaps I can delay her a bit more. I glanced around, looking for the least useful of my company.

“Private Abigail,” I ordered. “Take a shovel and start digging holes around this perimeter. Make each one the size of a small munition.”

Abigail’s eyes widened at the prospect. “ _Munitions_? I don't know anything about _munitions_!" Abigail squeaked. "This is… I only got here a few days ago!”

“We're planting mines?” Lieutenant Agred asked with a frown.

“No.” I shook my head. “We just need to make it _look_ as if we’ve planted mines. Have any mage lines that are not on sentry duty assist with the digging.”

It was a poor choice to use mages for manual labour - the work would exhaust them quickly and they needed their stamina for casting spells. Still, I had to put some of our mages to work because otherwise we would have around a third of our number standing doing nothing. There was too much that needed to be done quickly, I had to risk it.

Soon the entire company was hard at work around me. I left Fasili and Ghassan to oversee the fortifications and the scouting parties, but there was a different task for me.

“Sergeant Barika, Lieutenant Fadila,” I commanded, “with me.”

They both followed without complaint.

“Did you have the mages practice the linking ritual as I asked?” I demanded of Fadila.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It was difficult for them to learn in only a week, but most can now manage a basic connection.” She paused, with clear disdain in her eyes. “Although I wouldn't trust them to maintain the link in actual combat, mind.”

“They won’t need to."

Linking mages together was a staple of pre-Reform Legion doctrine. With a linking ritual, you could combine the power from multiple mages into a single, complex spell. It was such a basic technique that wasn’t even taught to modern Legion mages. Black preferred his mages to cast repeated, weaker spells - and avoid committing to advanced workings altogether.

But I was not of the Reformed Legions. My approach was rather more old-school.

Fortunately, I had an advantage concerning the quality of mages I had brought with me. The poorer stock only needed to link up and contribute their power, while the talent of Fadila, Barika and I manipulated that power into something more significant.

The three of us entered a hastily assembled tent, out of sight from the others. “Barika,” I commanded, nodding towards Fadila, “show it.”

Barika obediently removed her armour and lifted up her shirt, and Fadila whistled. Around Barika’s torso there were weaves of black lines imprinted on her skin, forming a complex set of shapes and runes layered over each other. The lines were still raw from where they had been etched onto her. It must have hurt intensely to scold such a pattern onto her body, but Barika had done so dutifully. It had been very good work, and I showed my approval by patting her on the shoulder.

“That is a ritual schematic,” Fadila realised, hesitating as she traced the drawings that wrapped around Barika’s lower torso.

“It is,” I agreed.

We wouldn’t have been allowed to bring any magic spellbooks or grimoires into these war games, of course. All of our equipment had been searched and verified against the regulations while we had been under the effects of the blood trance. Still, the mages of Wolof had learnt how to get around such restrictions. House Sahelian had developed a technique of transplanting the pages from books onto people’s skin, so they could be smuggled under clothing.

“This is your task,” I commanded them both. “Decode it, prepare it for casting.”

They understood my intent. Those pages made a considerable difference to the limit of magic we could employ. Any mage could throw a fireball, but the more complex rituals required preparation. They needed a ritual schematic to be designed in advance.

And because Barika had been willing to use her own skin as paper, we effectively had a spellbook filled with arcana at our disposal.

While the rest of the company managed the fortifications around the campsite, I oversaw the more magical preparations.

Everyone in the company worked for hours, but gradually it came together. They were all tired as the sun began to fall, but I gathered them in the centre of the freshly-hewn palisades.

“You’ve all done good work,” I addressed, my voice thick with praise. “But before we rest, there is one more thing I must ask of you.”

I motioned towards a cauldron set out before me. “I require your blood. Half a litre from each of you should suffice.”

There were murmurs. Half a litre of blood from a hundred of them was no small sum.

“Our _blood_?” Private Abigail squeaked, looking so painfully out of her depth.

“Is this going to be a demon summoning?” Lieutenant Agred asked with a heavy, doubtful frown.

“Oh no. Nothing of the sort,” I explained. “I am doing nothing that’s illegal. _This_ spell is in fact replicated from one that the Grand Druidess once employed. It is a spell of growth - nature magic.”

“Nature magic.” Abigail seemed reassured by the phrase. “That’s the _nice_ sort of magic, right?”

I paused for a beat.

“Sure,” I replied. _Nice_. Let’s go with that.

It had been a struggle, I admit, to come up with a spell suitable for this purpose. I would have preferred to use devil summoning personally, but that was banned by Legion regulation. Necromancy would have been useful if only we had a suitable supply of corpses. Fae binding had also been a possibility, but in practice the attempt would have likely been too finicky to implement.

So instead, my father had searched through the Wolof archives for a suitable ritual, and eventually we had come upon this one.

 _This_ ritual was not banned or restricted, simply because it had never been used often enough to justify a law against it. This was an esoteric branch of magic - no pun intended.

We had all the other components, and now we just needed blood.

I went first - because never let it be said that Akua Sahelian was not willing to bleed herself for a cause. I sliced open the back of my wrist with a sharp knife, and let the blood drip down into the cauldron. After this, we likely wouldn’t have enough magic remaining to heal everyone, so I advised them all to make the cuts as shallow as possible.

One by one, they complied. Abigail had to be held down while someone made the cut across her hand.

Snake Company gathered up in huddled, bleeding into cooking cauldrons. When we had enough blood, we bandaged up the cuts while Ghassan and Huwulti lifted up the cauldrons and began pouring the red substance in a circle over the grass.

The mages lines gathered and held hands and link their magic together, just like Fadila had taught them too. Fasili stood ready to dissipate Keter’s Due, while Barika sat in the centre of the bloody circle acting as our spellbook. I took on the most important role myself, and began etching the runes in the air with High Arcana.

Magic flared as the ritual took life - crackles of power surging down into the blood-fed grass.

“I call upon soil and roots,” I chanted. “Here me, ye of rot and bloom. Hear me, and rise.”

In the distance, I noticed three fireballs soaring through the night's sky. Ah, that would be Rat Company - announcing their arrival at the rendezvous point. It was followed by a blue fireball being launched up by Lizard Company in reply. Catherine had just made her first move, and I had made mine.

Still, I had no time to dwell on that. All my concentration was required on the ritual before me.

“Heed me, grass, root and branch. I call upon the thorn and bramble,” I intoned to the night, as my hands traced the runes. “I call upon the hunger of the earth and the teeth of the trees. Drink deep this watering of blood, take form and rise. _Rise_ , you of nature’s wrath.”

The crowd was watching all around me, entranced by the sight. The magic from so many untrained mages wobbled, but Fadila managed to hold the linking ritual together. Barika screamed as the power coursed through her, flowing through the schematic on her skin. It was like pouring molten metal and Barika was the mould.

I felt the taste of rot and mud in my mouth - as if I were chewing mud. Still, I swallowed it down.

“I am the Heiress,” I breathed deep. “This is my magic, and I **Own** it.”

My Aspect pulsed, like an invisible hand pressing over the ritual. **Own** \- it was an Aspect that granted me the ability to control what belonged to me. It was the same Aspect that would later turn into **Claim** when I transitioned into the Diabolist, but even in its current form it was still portent. My magic twisted at my desire because it was _mine_.

The power flared outwards, and then consolidated into a single shape. The grass underfoot began to churn, twist and weave together. It was rising up from the earth - a creature born of blood, mud, and hunger. Snake Company were stirring and whispering as it rose, but I could only laugh.

“What is this thing?” Lieutenant Agred demanded, his face pale as bone.

“This?” I giggled with delight. “Why, this is my monster.”


	6. Interlude: Not According To

_“So hold on, Adrika Nok betrayed the Chancellor, but he was actually the Dread Emperor in disguise? And then you attempted to poison the High Lord of Aksum, but that was only because Lord Bujune was framed for the murder of the real Chancellor - whom it turns out is still alive and imprisoned in Arcadia. Lady Rania and Lord Bujune both accused each other of masterminding the scheme, but if the Order of the Unholy Obsidian was a farce from the beginning and if the Emperor ordered the assassination on himself… then whose side am I even on?_

_“There are too many betrayals and counter-betrayals happening here. I fear that someone will need to draw a chart.”_

**– Takai Muraqib, High Lord of Kahtan during the reign of the Dread Emperor Traitorous**

* * *

**Interlude: Not According To**

Rat Company stood on the ridge of the hill in tense anticipation. There were one hundred men, orcs and goblins behind her, while Catherine Foundling - Captain Callow to some, the Squire to others - stood at the forefront with her eyes peered on the horizon. At the captain’s command, Kilian stepped forward and started muttering under her breath. She snapped her hand upwards and a ball of bright red flame went sailing up in the air. It was hard to judge how high it went, but the fireball was clearly visible from everywhere in the area. Another two followed in quick succession.

And then, a single ball of blue flame rose in the distance in response.

“The canyon,” Catherine muttered to herself.

So that was where Morok was. Sergeant Hakram lingered by his captain’s side, and cleared his throat.

“You’re playing your cards pretty close to the chest, Callow,” he gravelled.

Catherine only smirked as if that comment was amusing. “I had a dream this morning,” she told him instead of a true reply.

The orc gave her a quizzical look.

“So?”

“It was trying to teach me a lesson,” she mused. “I think I might be getting it, now.”

“Anything useful?” he asked curiously.

“If we’re to win this,” she said, “it won’t be by playing the game. It’s the players I need to play.”

“I take it that made sense in your head,” he snorted, flashing his fangs in a small smile.

“Something like that,” Captain Callow agreed. “Before you get to work, I need you to tell two things to Lieutenant Pickler.”

He leaned in close, and she described the next stage of her plan.

Catherine only managed to grab a few hours of sleep that night before dawn came. Rat Company had formed a square of jutting spikes around its camp, sharp end outwards. There was a large entrance facing the canyon for quick deployment and two smaller ones on the adjacent sides. It had been an uncomfortable night; Catherine somehow managed to miss a rock under her bedroll and it had dug into her back the whole time, leaving her with a bruised back as she donned her armour and pulled herself up.

As the sun rose, and her eyes were again fixated on the canyon ahead. There was an air of tense expectancy, though nobody was quite sure what they were expecting exactly.

Catherine waited anxiously, but as the morning passed slowly her face settled into a frown. _This is wrong_ , she thought. _Morok should have been here by now._

There was a nervous itch in the back of her mind as she considered the possibilities. _It’s the players I need to play_ , she repeated to herself. And yet they weren’t responding to her moves.

“I thought you were expecting trouble,” Pickler remarked.

 _I was_. Catherine didn’t reply, but her frown deepened.

“What are we waiting for?” Hakram asked eventually.

Catherine bit her lip, but it was time to reevaluate the situation. They had already established formation and planted the mines, but their target was nowhere in sight. It hadn’t gone as she expected it to. _Damn_.

“Someone who is clearly not coming,” Catherine said with a sigh. “Let’s form up a scouting party, and go find out why.”

Sergeant Robber and two other goblins agreed to lead the scouting party, but Catherine herself chose to go with them. She wasn’t fond of leaving the rest of Rat Company behind, but their position was secure and she needed to assess the situation for herself.

And besides, Catherine quite enjoyed being the tallest person in the group of goblins. It was a novelty for her.

The scouting party passed through the canyon, and where they spotted a campsite on the other side. The banners of Lizard Company were flying overhead. Last night, Morok had signalled that he would meet her, but he had set camp _here_ instead? Had he guessed her trap?

“You smell that?” Robber remarked, his green nostrils sniffing. “There’s been a fight here recently.”

Yes, Catherine could smell it. The distinctive reek of smoke and goblin munitions still hung in the air. Someone had been releasing smokers, in large quantities. It smelled like the aftermath of an ambush.

The scouting party emerged from the rocky outcrops, and then they saw movement up ahead. A group of orc sentries were positioned by the canyon wall, with crossbows ready. The Rat Company scouts darted for cover, but then they heard a voice boom.

“Halt!” a loud orc yelled. “Easy there - those are friendlies!”

 _Are we?_ Catherine wondered, her hand on her sword. The sentries up ahead were clearly Lizard Company, and they placed their crossbows down onto the ground and raised their hands up in meek surrender. Catherine shared a look with Robber, who just shrugged, yet they both stepped out of cover.

The orcs ahead kept their hands raised pointedly.

“Callow,” the orc at the front called in greeting. “Morok told us to watch out for you. He said us and Rat Company have an agreement.”

 _We do??_ Well, technically they did - but she hadn't expected either of them to honour it. Catherine hid the surprise from her face, and nodded. “Where is Captain Morok?” she asked.

“Inside,” the orc - likely a sergeant - pointed. “He wanted a word with you.”

Yeah, Catherine wasn’t about to go walking into the middle of their camp alone. She folded her arms and the message was clear; _bring Morok out here if he wants to talk_. The sergeant saluted and left to fetch his captain, while the other sentries waited alongside her. They left their weapons on the floor, very deliberately making no movements that could be mistaken for aggression.

 _If this is a trap_ , Catherine reasoned, _I’ll see it coming and I’ll be able to outrun them_. She could lead any pursuers through the canyon, back to where Rat Company was waiting in a fortified position. Still, there was no sign of obvious duplicity, and Lizard Company seemed to be being very careful not to provoke a fight.

After a few minutes, Catherine saw Captain Morok, grumbling towards her. The heavyset orc’s face was twisted into a permanent scowl. He was a big orc, easily over twice her size.

“What happened last night?” Catherine demanded. “We were supposed to meet up on the other side of the canyon?”

“There was a hiccup in the plan,” Morok grunted. “We were on our way to you, when wolves tried to attack our backs.”

 _Wolves_. Catherine’s heart skipped, but she showed nothing on her face. “Wolf Company attacked you?” she asked. “Did you win?”

Morok grinned a feral smile, and nodded. “They got sloppy. We saw them coming, and they tripped over a few of our mines.”

 _Shit_ , Catherine cursed. _Well, that explained that. But how could Aisha be so careless?_

“Are they out of the game?” she asked, keeping her own emotions hidden.

He shook his head. “We did some pretty good damage,” Morok explained. “But Bishara herself escaped with their standard and maybe half her company remaining. We couldn’t catch up with them in the night, but they’re not going to be fighting fit for a while.”

Yeah, little wonder. Morok’s heavies would have torn straight through Aisha’s lines. Wolf Company was built for mobility and ambush - but they wouldn’t have stood a chance brawling it out against a line of ogre heavies. As Morok described it, Aisha had been trying to ambush them, only to stumble onto their sappers and munitions.

Lizard Company had suffered heavy injuries on two lines of sappers, but it had still been a good victory for them. _But not a good victory for me_ , Catherine thought with an internal grimace.

 _Fuck, I hadn’t expected Morok to be so well-prepared._ Aisha must have played her hand too early, and ruined the plan of a joint ambush.

“I know I was supposed to meet up with you last night,” Morok said. “But after that attack, it was too dangerous to move out. We had to hunker down to lick our wounds.” He shook his head, and grunted. “And you know what this means?”

“What?”

“It means that Wolf Company must have joined forces with First Company,” Morok said. “ _That’s_ the only reason they’d be so bold to and ambush me like this.”

“Huh.” Catherine tilted her head. "And where does that leave us?"

“Is the deal still on?” Morok demanded. “The partnership - Lizard and Rat together, until Hellhound goes down?”

Catherine paused, frowned, and nodded.

“Good.” The orc nodded. “I won’t be able to beat them both by myself. My sappers suffered hard last night, so I’ll need to lean on Rat’s.” He grunted, bearing his fangs in an ugly grin. “Right now, we need each other, Callow.”

Catherine wasn’t so sure that was true, but she nodded regardless. She wasn’t quite certain where she sat with this change in circumstances, but she didn’t want to show her hand too early.

“And what about Snake?” Catherine asked. “Any sign of them?"

“Some. My scouts spotted them last night. They’re barricading themselves up, but Juniper is already on them.” Morok shook his head. “With luck, Snake and First will batter themselves fighting, and then we’ll come in. You’ll win over Heiress, and I’ll win over Juniper - that’s what we both want, hmm?” He paused. “ _Squire_?”

She smiled faintly. “You know who I am.”

“I heard rumours that you might be Named,” Morok agreed. “It figures. The truce ends once we take down Juniper, but until then we trust each other. Is that a deal?”

She considered her options. Morok was already acting far more agreeable than he had been the other day. He must be desperate too - or perhaps he wanted to have a Name on his side? Even so…

Catherine had been fully prepared to backstab Morok alongside Aisha, but if Wolf Company was already wounded… She didn’t have a lot of options remaining.

“Deal,” Catherine replied, honestly uncertain whether or not she was lying.

* * *

It was a strange thing to have designed such a beautifully complex plan, only for it to fall apart at the very first opportunity. _Black warned me about this_ , Catherine cursed herself. Plans with multiple stages were follies waiting to happen. Catherine had spent so much time plotting her sequence of events - but everything had been blown out of the water when Lizard Company had beaten Wolf Company without them.

“Things did not go as planned last night,” Catherine admitted to the officers of Rat Company, when she returned to their campsite.

The commanding officers of Rat Company were gathered in the tent. Around her sat Lieutenant Ratface, Sergeant Nauk, Sergeant Hakram, Lieutenant Pickler, Sergeant Robber and Sergeant Kilian.

“Because of Morok?” Ratface guessed. “I thought he was our ally.”

“He thought that as well,” Catherine explained. “But I was planning on betraying him to Aisha.”

Ratface raised his eyebrow. “So Aisha is our ally?”

“Well no,” Catherine confessed. “I was planning on betraying her when we fought Heiress.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. At that point, Robber began to laugh - the traitorous little shit that he was.

“So let me get this straight,” Hakram said, hiding his own grin. “Does Morok know that you tried to betray him?”

Catherine considered it, but shook her head.

“I don’t think so.” It would have likely been a very different conversation if he had known. “He beat Wolf Company without us, and now he needs our help.”

She described the failed ambush as Morok told it to her. She hadn’t seen the battle for herself - only its aftermath - but it was undeniable that Wolf Company had suffered a rout.

“Aisha got caught that badly?” Nauk wondered. “How did that happen?”

 _I’ve been wondering the same_ , Catherine mused. “She must have been careless,” she said, but it was only the best guess she could come up with. “He spotted her coming, he had his sappers prepared, and it went badly for her from there.”

At that, Ratface shook his head. “Nah, that doesn’t sound right,” he said doubtfully. “Wolf Company are ambush experts - Aisha wouldn’t have made such a rookie mistake.”

Others nodded, echoing the sentiment.

“If I didn’t know better,” Hakram mused, “I’d say that Morok knew she was coming.”

Catherine frowned. “But how could he have known that?”

At that comment, the whole tent turned and looked meaningfully at their captain. Catherine blinked. “What, do you think _I_ sold her out to Morok?” she protested.

“I mean…” Robber said in a cackle. “What was your whole plan again?”

Catherine was genuinely insulted by the suggestion. “I did _not_. Even I draw the line at triple-crossing someone.”

Robber began to laugh again, while Catherine grimaced and then sighed, “But you’re right, it is a problem.”

“Aisha will think you warned Morok,” Ratface agreed.

Yeah, understandably too. From what she could tell, Lizard Company had been _really_ well-prepared for what should have been a surprise assault. _From Aisha’s perspective, it’d seem like I had backstabbed her_ , Catherine considered. Aisha would think that she had been lured into the canyon with the promise of an easy ambush, only for Morok to turn and maul her. _And I hadn’t_ , Catherine thought defiantly - though there'd be no way to convince anyone of that. And if Wolf Company was now at half-strength, then that meant…

“So are we betraying Morok or not?” Nauk asked, clearly confused about the whole situation.

“I’m not sure if we can afford to anymore,” Catherine admitted.

“Why not?”

Hakram was the first to realise it. “Because Aisha has most definitely gone to Hellhound,” he gravelled.

Lizard Company had taken some damage too, though they had seemed certain that Wolf suffered much worse. Catherine was fairly confident that Aisha wouldn’t choose Heiress, which meant that Aisha’s only chance now would be to ally with Juniper for now and hope her odds improved later. And with the remaining Wolf Company beside them, that would mean that First Company now held a significant advantage.

And Rat Company simply couldn’t afford to fight Lizard Company one-on-one. Perhaps they could win the battle, but it’d be a foolish fight when First Company and Snake Company were still untouched. _We’d be wasting ourselves here when there’s still too many battles ahead_.

Lizard Company was in the same boat, if not more so. Morok’s goal was to beat Juniper, hence he needed a partnership of his own. It did seem as if the orc wanted to honour the original deal made with Rat Company; to take First Company down together before going their separate ways.

“I was pretty sure that Morok would try to betray us,” Catherine admitted. “I was certain of it, in fact.”

It did make her feel slightly guilty that Morok was being a straight shooter while Catherine had been planning on betraying everyone in sight. Only slightly guilty - not much. She was good at compartmentalising feelings of guilt.

“He still might,” Ratface noted.

Catherine shook her head. “After the injuries he took, Rat Company now outnumbers Lizard Company,” she mused. “I don’t think he’s going to try and attack us - not straight away, at least - because there’d be little chance of a clean victory for him. Even if he had surprise on his side, he’d be damning his own chances of winning.”

“So you think he's earnest?” Kilian asked, with one eyebrow raised.

“I think it’s the only move he has,” Catherine considered. “And he’s even willing to share his munitions. He thinks that we’re lacking dispersal munitions, so he gave us some to bring back with us.”

Thanks to their little trick with stores prior to the games, all the other companies thought Rat was carrying a different set of munitions than what they actually had. Morok believed that they had a weakness, and he had extended an offer to trade his own munitions that Catherine actually believed was legitimate.

“There’d be no good reason for him to do that now if he’s going to stab us in the back later,” Hakram agreed.

Yes, it was a clear gesture of trust. And that did make some sense from Morok’s perspective; he wanted to beat Juniper, he knew he needed Rat Company’s support to do so, so he was being _nice_. Begrudgingly nice, but still nice. The sensible option would be to play along with Morok’s plan for now, while letting his company take the brunt of the damages in the next few battles, and wait for a better chance.

After all, Rat Company had more sappers while Lizard Company had more heavies; it would be a good partnership for both of them.

 _So why do I feel so uneasy?_ Catherine wondered quietly. Logically it all made sense, but the whole situation just didn’t quite sit right for some reason. Something felt off, though perhaps that was just undue suspicion.

“What do we know about Snake Company?” Catherine asked eventually. Heiress was still the wild card on the field. The others were straightforward in their own way, but Akua was a different type of threat. _I cannot forget about that._

Robber raised his hand like an obedient child. Sometimes he liked to pretend. “I saw it,” Robber contributed. “I led a couple of scouts further north, and Snake Company was exactly where Morok said they'd be. The snakes are camped up on a hill to the north of here, and the Hellhound is sulking about outside.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Heiress is truly playing defence?”

Robber nodded, but that was another development which made _no fucking sense_.

The others seemed just as confused by the revelation. “They don’t have the equipment for that - didn’t Snake Company pick Siege template?” Pickler muttered thoughtfully. “Why would they choose Siege munitions and then go on the defence?”

“Are you sure she actually has those munitions?” Catherine wondered. “Heiress could have done the same trick as us and swapped her munitions at the last moment.”

“No chance,” Ratface said flatly. “ _I_ know how to smuggle munitions through other channels, but I would have spotted anyone from Snake Company trying the same. They have exactly what they said they took.”

“Well, maybe Heiress is just bad,” Nauk volunteered. “She’s arrogant, got no experience at this stuff, and she's making stupid mistakes.”

No, Catherine wouldn’t believe that much. Heiress _was_ arrogant, true, but dismissing her as stupid was asking for trouble. There were warning bells in the back of her head. _Beware an enemy making an obvious mistake_.

“You saw Snake Company's defences?” Catherine demanded of Robber. “What did they look like?”

“Bad,” Robber replied simply.

“How bad?”

Robber scratched his chin and considered the best way to describe it. “Well, imagine if a squad of retarded children tried their best to pile some sticks on top of each other,” he offered helpfully. “I mean sure, they put a lot of effort into it and it probably deserves a participation trophy or something - but it's still _bad_. They’re hiding behind one of the worst bloody barricades I’ve seen in awhile.”

“Snake Company doesn’t have any decent sappers,” Lieutenant Pickler agreed. “That’s what happens when you trust humans with important work.”

Catherine chose not to take that comment personally. She supposed that it was just a goblin thing.

It was true that Snake Company were playing out of their element. Now, Fox Company were fortification specialists, and it seemed like Akua was trying to copy those strategies with none of the expertise. If those fortifications were _that_ bad, then it made sense why First Company was poking around. The Hellhound had a nose for weakness.

Juniper needed a quick win, and Snake Company must seem like easy prey. The Hellhound wanted to break them before Snake Company had a chance to properly reinforce themselves, and there were a lot of heavy munitions up for grabs if she succeeded.

 _I suppose I should let that happen_ , Catherine mused. _No matter who wins, it’ll take out one of my main opponents_.

They pulled out their map, and began sketching the last known positions of the five companies. Rat and Lizard were both in the south close to each other, Snake Company had set up base up north, and First Company was somewhere in the middle. Wolf Company was harder to pin down, although Morok had reported scattered bands harrying his scouts. With her depleted numbers, Aisha had likely resorted to raider tactics.

Catherine cradled her chin, as she considered the map. It wasn’t a bad situation for her, truth be told - but it looked very different from what she had anticipated.

“Boss,” Robber prompted. “What's the plan?”

Catherine bit her lip. “So long as us and Lizard Company are backing each other up, First Company won't be able to target either of us,” she decided. “Juniper will _have_ to settle Heiress first before she can risk fighting us both.”

Others nodded in agreement to that assessment. Juniper wouldn’t be able to engage either Lizard or Rat properly while Heiress stood in a fortified formation at her back. Besides, it was basic strategy; in any brawl always finish the weakest party first - and right now, that appeared to be Snake Company.

It was in Catherine’s interests to force Juniper and Heiress against each other. Regardless who won, that would be one less problem for her. That made the decision.

“Ok, we coordinate with Lizard Company for now,” Catherine decided. “But carefully.”

“Do we trust them?” Hakram asked.

“Absolutely not.” _I could throw Morok much further than I trust him._ “But we can exploit him. It’s in both of our best interests to stand together for now. Just be careful - that might change quickly.”

After that, the talk turned to the more practical issues; how to limit risk, how to set up their camps, and what barriers they could keep between the two companies.

 _There wasn’t really another choice_ , Catherine admitted silently. The situation offered her too much of an advantage to deny. Even so, it irked her.

* * *

Later that very day, Catherine watched Lizard and Rat Companies set up camp together.

Well, ‘together’ was a stretch. They had both agreed on setting up at opposite sides of the canyon, with embankments and fortified spikes in between them. They had agreed restrictions on their alliance; no party larger than five men was allowed to pass between the safe zone between their camps. Catherine had even ordered Pickler to plant mines on Rat’s side and prepare a killzone, because a little bit of paranoia never hurt anyone.

They were allies of convenience, not true partners.

In truth, Catherine had wanted to move out, but there were injured people in Lizard Company who needed time to rest and heal. She had been convinced to linger in the canyon while they assessed the situation further north.

The sentries did catch sight of First Company patrols harrying the area, but between the two companies they had the manpower to secure the canyonside quite tightly.

And Morok had proven surprisingly accommodating. He had permitted trade between them, and the sharing of munitions as well as supplies. Morok had his own scouting reports copied to Rat Company, he offered guards for Rat's foraging squads, he even lent some of his ogre heavies to drag lumber for Rat's barricades. Morok had given every indication that he intended to play fair.

Catherine was still certain that he’d cross them, of course, but the critical question was _when_.

They spent over an entire day stationed in the canyon, caught in an uneasy lull.

Later, Catherine watched as dusk began to fall. Catherine found herself standing outside on the edge of the camp, looking over the barricades and minefield. She stood out there for a while, until eventually Hakram approached her from behind.

"You look troubled,” the sergeant noted.

“I am,” she admitted. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

“Things are moving too slowly,” Catherine said with a sigh.

Hakram looked at her dubious. “You agreed to wait.”

“I know! And I know why I agreed to it, it’s just…” She shrugged. “Too slow. Everything is happening too slow.”

But things were moving slowly because Juniper was moving slowly. Catherine and Morok had agreed to wait for the outcome from the First Company’s siege before marching out themselves.

On paper, Rat Company seemed to be in a pretty good position right now. Wolf Company had been crippled early, First Company and Snake Company were set to face off against each other, and Lizard Company was relying on them. And the plan _did_ work in theory; First Company and Snake Company would fight each other, although the Hellhound appeared heavily favoured to win that engagement. Her scouts all confirmed that Snake Company was making mistakes, and First Company would crush them for that.

First Company could have likely taken Snake’s base already, if they had pressed their assault. However, Juniper seemed intent on grinding Snake down instead. Doubtlessly, Juniper was cautious about Heiress’ Name, and she wanted to make sure the odds were stacked so high that not even a Name could change them. And again, Catherine agreed that it was a solid decision.

 _And lets assume First Company wins_ , Catherine considered, _though they'll still take some damage_. From there, Aisha and Juniper would have to team up to match Catherine and Morok. The obvious conflict would then be First and Wolf (both weakened) versus Lizard and Rat (both fresh) - and again those odds were favourable. It was in the best interests of both Morok and Catherine to stick together until then.

After that match, the truce with Morok would be over and they would have to fight each other - but Rat Company beating Wolf Company was certainly doable. Morok’s heavies would be formidable in a straight match, but they had exploitable weaknesses. The victor would depend largely on who came out of the previous battle with the fewest injuries.

 _Yes_ , Catherine decided, _there was a clear path to success ahead of her_. It wasn’t a sure victory by any means, but it was a path following sound tactical decisions.

_So why don’t I fucking trust it?_

No, Catherine knew why; because it all hinged on Snake Company being the first to fall. And she remembered Akua’s smug smile and gloating eyes, and she knew it just couldn’t be that simple.

It was a feeling in her bones. It felt like she was being played somehow.

Hakram was looking at her intently, while a dozen thoughts and scenarios ran through her head.

“The problem is that they’re _all_ sensible decisions,” Catherine said finally, half to herself. “Our victory relies on us making a series of sensible decisions, one after another.”

“You think the strategy is too sensible?” Hakram said doubtfully.

“I think I haven’t had a choice in it,” Catherine muttered. “Not _really_. I’m in a situation where there is only one clearly favourable way forward.”

_And that means I'm being predictable. Predictable players get played._

So let's look at it a different way, then. What if Akua was manipulating Juniper into attacking her - but that didn’t make any sense, did it? What sort of plan would involve showing your flank and _inviting_ the Hellhound to come take a bite? It _had_ to be a trap, surely, but Catherine just couldn’t figure how.

But it was made all the more frustrating because Heiress was behaving in the exact opposite of how Catherine had expected her to behave. Akua Sahelian was famous for hedging her bets, avoiding risk and always having a backup plan. Akua should be avoiding all-or-nothing gambits like the one she was pulling right now. Akua’s current strategy felt more like something like what Catherine herself would play when she had nothing to lose.

 _I’m missing something_ , Catherine thought furiously. _I know I am, I can feel it._

“What would happen if Snake Company won?” she asked finally, speaking. “I don’t know how, but let’s just say Heiress beats Juniper somehow.”

Juniper wasn’t infallible, and Names could most certainly trump strategy. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Juniper was being lured into a mistake.

“It’s the same plan, I suppose,” Hakram replied. “Then us and Morok go after Snake Company together.”

And again, it’d be the same likely outcome. Snake Company would be battered, Lizard and Rat would be fresh. _We would come off as the winners once more. Unless…_

“And what if Morok turns against us then?” I asked.

“There’d be no benefit to him,” Hakram noted. “Not when we’re at his back.”

Yeah, Morok would be very unlikely to win with such a move - they had agreed contingencies in place. Rat Company would be positioned at Lizard’s flanks, with munitions ready to inflict pain at the first sign of double-cross. Even if Morok _did_ scrape a victory over Rat somehow, he would then surely lose to Heiress soon afterwards.

“And it’s doubtful that Morok ever would support Heiress,” Hakram continued thoughtfully. “He’s from an old clan in the Steppes, old orc blood. He has no reason to love the High Families - I can’t imagine he’d want to side with the _Heiress_.”

 _Can’t imagine_. But that’s the point, isn’t it? It was always the eventualities that you didn’t even imagine which came back to bite you.

 _Justifications matter only to the just_ , Catherine recalled, as she had many times before. _Now how had Heiress known those words?_

She felt a tingle down her spine, as a different perspective came into focus.

 _Perhaps that's been my problem_ , she considered; _I’ve been too busy thinking about this as a military exercise_. But that had all changed when Heiress and Squire took to the field. _Our presence, our wager, means that this is now a Named conflict, and Named work by a different set of rules_.

All of her plans had been based on the assumption that the players would each work towards their own best interest. But what if one of the players could be convinced to work against their own interests… 

She felt it in her bones. _Mistake_. “Call an officer meeting,” Catherine ordered suddenly. “It’s time for a different strategy.”

Hakram looked surprised. It was already dusk, but the wheels were already in motion. “What sort of strategy?”

She smiled bitterly. “From now on I’m going to assume that Heiress has some masterplan. Imagine - what if for every logical decision we could make, she’s already thought of it and has come up with some cunning way to counter it,” Catherine said out loud. “So then, how would you escape such a trap?”

Hakram looked at her, and blinked. “You do something she hasn’t thought of.”

“Close.” She scoffed. “We start considering the illogical decisions instead.”

* * *

“Callow,” Morok greeted, as Catherine stepped into his tent. “How goes it?”

“Fine,” Catherine agreed casually, strolling forwards with her hands in her pockets. “You had a report for us?”

“I do. Our scouts have confirmed that Juniper and Aisha are both attacking Snake together,” the orc reported, as he laid his own map on the table and invited her to take a look.

“They’re taking their time,” Catherine remarked. The five-way games had been unfolding much slower than she had anticipated.

“They’re whittling her down,” Morok grunted. “The Hellhound is no fool.”

But Juniper didn’t have that much time to spare, either. Caution concerning Names was one thing - but even Juniper would be feeling the pressure to push for a win. Morok pulled out a chalk and began sketching out the defences as his scouts had reported them.

“They’ve set up their own line around Snake’s walls," he explained. “I say we set up our own line at the bottom of the hill here. We use a Blackpowder pincer formation, and crush them between two sides of munitions.” Good choice - that was Legion textbook, a formation that Grem One-Eye himself had developed. Morok shrugged. “Whichever one of them takes the hill, we attack them when they’re tired.”

“Who’s handling what sides of the formation?” Catherine asked.

“Lizard will take the front if Rat reinforces the flanks,” Morok offered. “We lost too many of our sappers against Wolf, and you’re better equipped to handle the heavy munitions.”

Again, a sensible decision - but also one that was unproportionally good for Rat. It meant that even if Lizard _did_ turn on Rat, then Rat Company would have a surplus of munitions and a reinforced position. Catherine had no logical reason to object to it.

“And what afterwards?”

“You know how it works,” Morok said in a gravelly voice. “Afterwards, if I think I can beat you then I’ll try to beat you. You’ll do the same.” He shrugged. “Or if neither of us are confident, then we can settle for a draw instead.”

 _A draw_. He knew she was aiming for a draw.

“That _is_ sensible,” Catherine agreed faintly.

Morok was being very kind. Lizard Company was apparently making earnest gestures to support them. _But was there such a thing as being overly earnest?_

“I just have one question,” Catherine asked after a beat. “How many points did you wager on this game?”

Morok blinked, seemingly surprised by the turn in conversation, but then he shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Three,” he admitted.

“Three,” she repeated. Rat Company had wagered _eighty-four_. “So few?”

“Three is enough to push my company up to first place,” he said defensively. “There was no point risking any more.”

“Yeah,” Squire agreed softly. “No point.”

At that, she lifted up her hand, and Morok saw the object she had been hiding in her pockets. His eyes widened in shock. Catherine bore a feral grin.

There was a sharper clenched in her fist, pointed straight at Morok's face. She squeezed hard and triggered the munition, and the blast exploded directly in Morok’s face. 

The recoil jarred her wrist, but the shockwave lifted the heavy orc physically up off the floor. He crumpled, as the explosion echoed like a thunderclap.

Oh, it had been a good plan, Catherine conceded, but it had been too _neat._ There had been too many decisions that had been - on the face of it - too good for Rat Company and too little benefit for Lizard. Morok should have grumbled more, he should have put up more of a fight. He had been trying too hard to be _helpful_.

All this time Catherine had been assuming Morok would be trying to win for himself, but no - this all stunk of Heiress’ scheming. Lizard Company was being used as a sacrificial lamb. And that meant Morok was just Heiress’ puppet, in an attempt to lure Catherine into a false sense of security.

 _She_ gave _me the better position, because she knew that would make me complacent!_ The sheer gall of it! It was a plan that had been designed specifically to catch her out - Heiress had manipulated the match so that Catherine would be in a comfortable position. She wanted the Squire to have no chance to Struggle.

The sharper bruised Catherine’s hand and rattled her skull, but it was worth it just to see Morok collapse. The orc's teeth shattered.

The whole canyon heard the bang. Lizard Company was already rallying, but it was too late. That explosion was the signal, and then the smokers and bright sticks began to hurl through the air. Rat Company surged through the Lizard campsite, and then there was battle.

* * *

The fighting was short but brutal. Lizard Company had put up a good fight, yet surprise won it for Rat Company. Nauk’s heavies had managed to swarm the line of ogre heavies before they even got in formation, all the while Robber’s sappers scattered and dazed them.

Those of Lizard Company were left bloody and beaten. Catherine found Lizard’s hidden standard and burned it, and with that Lizard Company was out of the game for good. The injured cadets were stabilised just enough so they wouldn’t bleed out, and then left to one side so they could be escorted out of the arena.

Morok himself lay firmly unconscious. The blast had crushed his ugly face and rattled his skull, which was probably for the best. Catherine had few moral objections towards beating up a prisoner out of pure spite.

She stood outside, massaging her bruised wrist, when Hakram and Pickler found her. She could tell from their expressions that it wasn’t good news, but good news hadn’t been expected. She had ordered her officers to check _everything_ , for whatever they might have missed.

“We have a problem,” Hakram reported. “We have two problems in fact.”

She groaned, and straightened. “Ok, go ahead,” she said, bracing herself. “Who's first?"

They shared an uneasy look. “Do you remember all those munitions that Morok traded us?” Pickler began.

Catherine blinked. “ _No_.”

The goblin nodded ruefully.

“But we checked those!” Catherine protested. They _had_ been careful. “He handed us _working_ munitions!”

“They were working when we got them,” Pickler confirmed. “But they were corrupted. It’s not well known, but there _are_ some types of alchemy which can cause munitions to slowly degrade.” She shook her head. “Everything Lizard gave us is now useless.”

 _Which means that we now have a bunch of dud munitions rather than real stuff_ , Catherine thought angrily. Thank the Gods they hadn't been relying on those munitions in battle - it would have gone very badly the moment Rat Company realised that their firepower was dead.

“Alchemy,” Hakram muttered. “How would Morok even know how to do that?”

“He wouldn’t,” Catherine muttered foully. “But Heiress would.”

 _Fuck you, Heiress_. _Fuck you so hard._

“And the second problem?” Catherine asked, looking to Hakram - because she needed to know how much it would hurt when the other shoe fell.

“You know those two sapper lines that were injured in the first clash with Wolf Company?” Hakram said.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Morok had them escorted off the field.”

“Seems they weren’t injured at all,” Hakram confirmed. “But they are gone. And there are others who are missing - I count roughly another whole line that was not in Morok’s camp.”

That meant thirty cadets of Lizard Company were unaccounted for. Morok had sent them away, she realised. He had deliberately weakened himself, such that Catherine would feel like she was in a stronger position. _That_ had been the reason she had been willing to play along, even despite her misgivings.

 _Morok actually managed to betray me by_ not _betraying me_. Their ‘alliance’ had been a delaying action, a means of ensuring the games unfolded in a certain way. But Morok had never been expecting to win - he had stood absolutely no chance of victory after he had spoiled his own munitions and sent away such a significant portion of his men.

And of the thirty men missing from Morok’s camp, the majority of them were sappers. And if they weren’t here, then where…?

Realisation dropped over her. It was never a straight line during one of Heiress’ schemes. There was always some twist, always some secondary goal. _Akua knows how to play the players too_.

“ _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Catherine cursed, and then looked to Hakram grimly. “Gather the men, we have to start moving. Call for a quick march.”

They both hesitated. “Captain?” Hakram said doubtfully, and Catherine recognised the unstated warning.

Yes - she knew Rat Company had just fought a battle, and that they were tired. Forcing them into a hard march now would wear them ragged. _And yet we might already be too late_.

“Juniper is about to be hit hard,” Catherine said with a grimace. “And right now, we’ve got to go save her.”


	7. Reprisal

_“Number seven: Always make your schemes as complex and as intricate as possible. The more moving parts and dependencies you include in your plan, the better the results will turn out.”_

**– Extract of the lesser-known “Two Hundred Villainous Axioms”. According to rumour, the book was authored by Dread Emperor Irritant, and then distributed among other villains to give them purposefully bad advice.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Reprisal**

“They're not really going to hurt us, right?” I overheard Abigail say, breaking the hush over the sentries standing behind the palisade. “I mean, it’s not as if anybody is _really_ going to hurt anyone else?”

The other cadets gathered behind the palisade chuckled dryly at that, and I turned and raised an eyebrow. Abigail seemed to be trying to reassure herself with an impressive amount of denial.

“This _is_ just a game,” Abigail insisted, her voice tinged with desperate hope. “Cadets aren't allowed to just kill other cadets, right? _Right_?”

“They won’t kill you, Callowan,” a stocky orc grumbled, amusement clear in her voice. “But they’ll break your legs if they catch you. They might stab in the stomach, shoot you with crossbow bolts, or throw a sharper at your face.”

Abigail’s jaw twitched. “That sounds a lot like murder.”

“Hey, if you can be patched together by mages at the end of it, then anything is fair.”

Abigail opened her mouth, and then closed it. I watched her through the corner of my eye, deeply amused. “But nobody _dies_ , right?” Abigail managed, in the voice of a sinking woman trying to find something to cling onto.

They began chuckling again, which did not appear to reassure the young cadet.

“Twenty percent,” a sergeant said.

“Sorry?” Abigail squeaked.

“Officially, the War College permits a _twenty percent_ fatality rate during the war games,” he explained dryly. “Nobody is allowed to purposefully kill, but it still happens. Sometimes a blade slips too deep, sometimes a crossbow bolt hits an artery, sometimes a fireball blows open someone’s skull.” He shrugged. “And anything less than twenty percent is deemed acceptable.”

“But that’s one in five!” Abigail exclaimed, aghast.

“Yep. They say it's to keep cadets on their toes.”

Clearly Abigail hadn’t been aware of that part of the Legion rulebook. Abigail was sweating, casting nervous looks through gaps in the palisade. We could all see the wooden spikes and the lines of armoured heavies stationed at the bottom of the hill, just out of range. Everyone knew the Hellhound was sniffing at our door.

I smiled, and leaned over into the conversation. “Don’t worry,” I said sweetly, “it’s not really twenty percent.”

Abigail flinched, turning to look at me with shock.

“It’s actually forty,” I clarified. “There is an addendum that allows a special exception to war games which feature Named. Casualties up to forty percent would be permitted here.”

That was a legacy rule, admittedly – but it was still present on the books. In the past, there had been some notable games featuring Named that had become especially bloody, and so the War College allowed exceptions in such circumstances. As was usual, Named were given a lot of leniency.

Of course, very, very few games ever featured fatalities reaching anywhere close to the twenty percent margin. The College would soon run out of cadets if so many died during every game. But that was not to say that no one ever died.

Killing blows _were_ discouraged, and there were arbiters watching via scrying who would punish any fatalities caused by ‘obvious malicious intent’ – but deaths still happened with some regularity. After all, the cadets here were wielding sharp swords, throwing real fireballs and exploding live munitions. We had all been instructed to aim to cripple and not kill, but sometimes accidents just happened. That much was expected.

And the Legions of Terror were hardly a bleeding-heart organisation. Its leaders cared little about those few fatalities, and they were far more interested in hardening the rest. _Iron sharpens iron_.

Even despite the Reforms, that was one matter which hadn’t changed. These war games _needed_ to have the threat of real danger hanging over them to make sure its lessons were learned. To Black’s mind, it was better that a few cadets died during the games here, rather than masses of legionnaires died on the field later all because their officers were under-prepared for what war entailed. And I completely agreed with him on that count.

This was a battle for our lives. No one in my company was allowed to forget that.

I paused behind the flimsy wall of hammered wooden logs, staring out at the figures in the distance. They wouldn't attack now, I decided, but they were most certainly waiting.

“Private Abigail,” I declared. “You are on guard duty for this south-eastern stretch of wall. Keep an eye out, and make sure they don't come any closer than the minefield.”

Our minefield was completely devoid of any mines, of course. Juniper had likely realised quickly that the holes we dug were empty, but I did not want them knowing that _for sure_.

Abigail gulped. “And what,” she asked carefully, “what should I do if they _do_ come closer?”

I tapped the end of her crossbow chidingly. “You stop them, of course.”

With that, I walked away from the palisade and the other cadets followed me – leaving one very scared Callowan girl standing there clutching a crossbow up to her chest.

Our perimeter of palisades was long, and I could not afford to concentrate sentries at any singular point. In all likelihood, Juniper had stationed those men outside to keep watch and count our numbers.

So far, the Hellhound had proven herself clever and cautious. She hadn’t yet committed to any true assault strike, but there had been many night-time raids, much prodding of our defences, and a committed effort to hunt our scouts.

It was manageable for now, but Juniper was still inflicting damage. We had lost most of the parties we had sent foraging or scouting. Thrice, sappers had even snuck close and set fire to our palisades with munitions, knowing that we didn't have the water to extinguish nor the lumber to repair the damage. We had been forced to use magic to quench the flames, which had proven a very exhausting task.

The Hellhound had been whittling our numbers, our resources and our stamina away, slow but steady. She had trapped us up on this hill, and now she was tightening the noose. I could feel the unease in the camp around me.

“The south palisade is the weakest section of our defence,” Ghassan reported to me that morning. “It’s held up by twine and a prayer right now, and we’ve got no lumber to do any better.” He shook his head. “If she wants through, all she has to do is knock.”

I shook my head. “Do not try to reinforce it.”

Lieutenant Ghassan looked pained. “Lady – _Captain_ , we’re wide open at the moment. If she attacks, we won’t be able to hold her at the palisades. Hells, I’m surprised she hasn’t attacked already.”

“It's _because_ we’re wide open that she won’t attack,” I replied dryly. “Juniper thinks that it is a trap.”

“And is it?”

I smirked. “In a sense, yes.”

Juniper knew something of the rules regarding Names and story, and that fuelled her caution. She saw an obviously deficient palisade with a weakness so clear that I could have put a sign over it, and that made her doubt herself. She knew we had powerful mages; she knew the Heiress was commanding. She knew that I wouldn't have made such a mistake accidentally. And it was so obviously bait for _something_ that she had kept her distance.

And, of course, it was a trap – yet the trap was that there was no trap.

 _If Juniper had attacked immediately_ , I mused, _then we would have simply lost_. I truly did have no decent method of holding the palisades that I had built around myself. But the pure _obviousness_ of such a bait had discouraged Hellhound from biting into it, and so she had taken a different approach instead.

But in truth she had been playing exactly into our hands, and giving us what we needed most – _time_.

 _How long will it take for her to realise something was up?_ I wondered. She might have already started to second-guess herself. Her night-time raids had certainly been increasing in frequency.

“What happens if the outer palisades fall?” I asked Ghassan.

“We will retreat into the inner fort,” he replied, and his eyes narrowed.

Our ‘fort’ was a stronghold in the middle of the camp; a narrow area encircled by a deep trench, a high embankment and a barrier of sharpened spikes. We had even built raised platforms in the fort where our crossbowmen and mages could overlook the rest of the campsite. The outer palisades covered a wide area and would be difficult to defend, but if we fell back to the fort we could concentrate our forces more effectively.

“Yes. And that is your job,” I instructed. “ _That_ is where the battle will be decided. I will handle the rest.”

“As you say, captain.”

When he was gone, I closed my eyes and focused on everything I knew about Juniper. **Study** , I commanded silently, calling on my Aspect – although there was no sudden rush of knowledge or insight. Without anything specific to focus on, **Study** merely worked to sharpen my intuition, but it was not infallible and far from perfect. Still, it helped me think.

 _I'm confident that she will not wait much longer_ , I decided. Juniper had allied with the remaining Wolf Company, giving her a force roughly a hundred and forty strong. Snake Company was down to less than ninety after the scouts, foragers and sappers we had lost, plus some injuries from raids. Juniper already had numbers enough, plus many other advantages besides. My men were weary and worn after being isolated in this camp for so long, being constantly harried.

I knew from experience that Juniper much preferred aggressive assaults over prolonged stalemates – and she _must_ be getting nervous with the thought of Lizard and Rat Company working together. In her mind, there would be a risk of losing the greater match if she stretched this ‘siege’ out much longer. She needed a win.

No, I was certain. The Hellhound would be coming in an all-out assault any moment now. It was the only move she could play.

I was, in fact, counting on it

* * *

As it happened, I was proven correct later that very day. I was asleep in a tent in the fort when multiple sets of horns blared together. I was awake and ready in an instance, after going to sleep in my armour.

It was only dusk outside, but I had gone to rest early. The sun was fading but it was not yet dark. She attacked at a time when we would be weary, but when she still had sunlight behind her. In a matter of moments, the camp turned frenzied. I heard the distinctive crackle of smokers igniting even from across the walls.

“Report,” I demanded, wasting no words.

“Three different attacks,” Ghassan reported. “They're coming from the east, south and west together.”

A pronged strike. That made sense; she knew we had a limited number of skilled mages, and she was forcing us to split them. Still, three prongs were too many.

“The south prong is a feint,” I decided. “What are the banners to the east and west?”

"First Company is leading the east, Wolf Company to the west."

Yes, just because they were allies didn't mean Juniper would trust Wolf Company to fight alongside them directly. _Looks like I'm going east, then_.

“Lieutenant Fasili – hold the west,” I commanded. “Everyone else on me!”

I saw our crossbowmen firing bolts through the gaps in the palisade, but then bright sparks were hurled through the smoke and the scene was crackled into blinding chaos. I saw Fadila trying to form up the mage lines, but the smokescreen became so thick that I could only make out faint shadows of the lines coming up the hill.

Shock and disorient tactics. Juniper was coming hard.

The first flurry of fireballs soared over the palisade, but half of them missed their targets through the smoke. I noticed the mistake too late; our mages were aiming for the heavies crouched behind thick shields, when they should have been aiming for -

A thunderclap broke the scene, splinters flying everywhere. Sharper charges exploded the stretch of wall to the left of us. The heavies and smokers had been a distraction, while the sappers of First Company creeped closer to detonate the stretch of wall. We were breached.

Then there were crossbowmen taking pot-shots through the gaps in the wall. I heard screaming.

Ghassan took command, ordering the lines to form up to repel intruders. The mage lines were ready, fireballs at their fingertips pointed towards the breach – waiting for movement in the smoke.

Shadowy outlines appeared, and Fadila bellowed the order to fire.

“No!” I yelled. “Don't -”

I was too late. The fireballs whooshed through the smokescreen, but they collided nothing but wood and straw. _Scarecrows_ , I realised. Juniper had tasked goblins crouching low and holding up _scarecrows_ to draw our fire. _The fucking nerve!_

But if she wasn't coming in through that way, then where…?

To the right of us, another section of the palisade exploded. There were two breaches now, and we were being flanked.

“Infantry!” Ghassan bellowed. “Shields up!”

Our own heavy lines forming up, just as I saw spearmen of First Company materialise through the smoke. Ghassan was trying to lead our own lines to stop them – but that was holding action, nothing more. There was no barrier between Snake and First now, and we would be outmatched in melee.

Behind us, Barika was commanding a mage line from the raised platform in the fort, who tried to launch a flurry of spells to help – but the crossbowmen of First were faster and more precise. The bolts shot upwards, pinning our mages.

I weaved magic through my hands in a whip of vicious lightning that sent those front lines scattering backwards. Besides me, I saw Huwulti trying to summon High Arcana, only to lose her focus halfway through a rune. She made a mistake, then her own hand ignited into flame. Her screams of pain howled, and I made no move to help her.

The fool – this was no time to commit to complex magic. Right now, we needed quick, fast spells.

Our mages managed to regroup with a flurry of spells to push them back- but the heavies crouched behind their shields and held steady. Their munitions and crossbowmen were tearing our formations apart. Most mages couldn’t concentrate properly through so much noise and chaos, and that reduced the effectiveness of our spells greatly.

 _Well done, Juniper_ , I conceded. To be able to turn the tables so easily against defenders in a fortified formation… I could appreciate why she was the best in the College.

Behind me, I saw a flurry of magic from the other side of the camp. The lines under Lieutenant Fasili were trying and failing to hold back Wolf Company at the east palisade too. We were losing ground on both sides and soon we would be sandwiched in the middle. That would turn into a rout.

_Time to release my monster, then._

“Barika!” I bellowed, emphasising my words with a blast of arcane light. “Covering fire! Fall back!”

They knew this plan; I had rehearsed it enough times. Barika and the reserve mage lines began laying down suppressing fireballs, while Ghassan and the infantry began a controlled retreat. Meanwhile, I scrawled magical runes in the air, calling upon both my Name and my magic.

Juniper would not give us the opportunity to retreat so easily, but then ground underfoot began to swell as the construct rose up from the earth.

 _Come to me_ , I willed.

The creature of dirt and plant-life rose upwards. It stood roughly seven foot tall, and almost just as wide. It was shaped more like a sphere than anything humanoid – its body appeared formless. It did not have any limbs, but instead its body was made of mud held together by a mass of writhing vines. It had no arms or legs, but dozens of leafy tendrils.

 _An earth elemental_ , the Grand Druidess had named them – though in truth it was more like a plant golem. It was a creature made from plants bound together by sorcery. Those in Snake Company had named it ‘Leafy’.

And now, Leafy charged physically into First Company, its vines whipping madly. There was no intelligence in its movements, but vines writhed to strangle anything it could reach, and it could crush men with its mass alone. It was like a stampeding bull, tearing into the wall of shields.

I had been half-expecting them to panic, but First Company held solid. They weren’t the best without reason – the famous Legion discipline held even when faced with monsters. The War College even held classes to teach its cadets to fight devils and unearthly creatures. The heavies grappled the monster, their shields managing to hold it back even despite the mass of vines engulfing them.

First Company’s lines buckled, but they didn’t break. They managed to hold even despite the golem charging at them and the onslaught of spells from above.

“Charges!” I heard Juniper’s voice bellow. “Sharpers!”

The front line of the heavies was being pushed back, but then the sappers managed to jam munitions straight into Leafy’s body. They detonated with a sharp crack – sending lumps of mud splattering over everyone. They blew the plant monster into pulp – pun intended, that time.

The remains of Leafy's body were still writhing, but then the First Company’s mages turned around and scorched it with streams of fire.

 _Yes_ , I thought, _this is a loss_.

Still – the plant golem had served its purpose. It managed to distract First Company while Snake Company retreated into the fort. I walked calmly, absently throwing lightning over my shoulder as I crossed the wooden plank that bridged the trench.

The outer palisades had fallen – both Wolf and First Company had taken the camp, forcing what remained of Snake Company to barricade themselves in the centre fort. Oh, we had put up a good fight, all things considered, but we had been outmatched. I had lost at least half of my infantry lines in the fighting by the palisades, though most of my mages and crossbowmen had retreated in good order. Most of my strongest mages – Fasili, Fadila and Barika – had made it through, though Huwulti lay on the ground outside with a bolt in her shoulder and scorch marks over her arm.

I had been hoping against hope that Juniper might try and press her advantage and pursue us into the fort, but no such luck. They were not so green to break formations just because their opponents were running. Why would the Hellhound need to follow us at all – when we were holed up in here and she was outside with the advantage of mages, crossbowmen and munitions?

The raised platforms of the fort were the first to go. The munitions of First Company ripped our flimsy wooden structures into splinters. Splinters and debris scattered overhead; the cadets screamed as the walls trembled around us.

Among the infantry who had survived, I noticed Abigail had made it through, much to my amusement. “Captain!” she squealed, as our fragile fort trembled around us. “What do we do?”

“Do?” I replied calmly. “Try to keep your head down.”

Fasili was already leading the others as they rushed for cover inside one of the tents, but I sat out in the open and let the splinters and debris rain down over me.

Juniper would leave nothing to chance. She wouldn’t fight us in such close quarters – but rather she would blow the walls down around us. A better-made structure would have held up, but our poorly crafted fort stood no chance. Snake Company made some attempts to resist, but only a token effort.

I sat, wiped the dirt off my brow, sighed, and waited. The sun had fallen, and now it was dark. The night grew pitch black, illuminated by flickering flames.

After a while, I picked up on Snake Company’s standard, balanced it over my shoulder, and emerged through the entranceway. The crossbowmen positioned outside tensed, but they did not fire.

"Halt!" Juniper ordered, as I pushed my way through the broken barricades.

First Company and Wolf Company had surrounded the fort from all sides, securing the entire camp. I clambered awkwardly over the embankment and through the ruins of our barricades, swinging our standard in a gesture of peace. Behind me, three dozen cadets of Snake Company stood around the wall behind me, but they made a sorry sight. They were bloody and broken. I myself was covered in mud with the standard of Snake Company held in my hands.

“I wish,” I announced boldly, “to negotiate. I offer an alliance.”

“Denied,” Juniper returned gravelly. “This is your loss, Snake Company.”

Yeah, figured that would happen. Worth a shot, though.

I sighed and meekly raised my hands in surrender. The cadets shuffled aside to let their captain pass. Juniper herself approached me, and her gaze met mine.

“Well, what can I say?” I sighed. “You got me.”

With that, I smiled. Juniper’s eyes widened in alarm. A villain surrendering with a smile – could there be anything more dangerous?

“Retrea–” she bellowed, just before I clicked my fingers.

And the scene around me vanished without a trace. All of those ‘cadets’ who had been lining the walls behind me disappeared. The illusion that I had woven unravelled, and suddenly they were faced with the truth: I was alone inside of the broken fort. All of the others who rushed inside of it to take shelter had seemingly vanished.

 _That was your mistake_ , I thought smugly. _You thought we were trapped in here, but we had a way out_.

They did not know about the tunnel cutting through the hillside north, dug by goblin sappers and emerging into a hidden outcrop in forest. Its entrance was obscured by the tents in the fort. Juniper hadn’t considered the possibility because she knew that Snake Company didn’t have enough sappers to make such a thing, and because she thought she would have noticed us digging if we tried.

Both of those were true – though Juniper hadn't counted on Lizard Company’s sappers supporting ours. They had dug a secret escape tunnel into our camp, just for this occasion. 

I had added a little bit of illusion magic to keep them from suspecting. Which meant that all the while Juniper had been demolishing our inner fort, our lines under Fasili had been crawling through the tunnel, out around the hillside, and joining up with the thirty men donated by Lizard Company, and then circling around…

There was an explosion outside, as a storm of fireballs impacted against the reserves she had left out front. My mages were already in position, and this time it was Juniper’s turn to be surrounded and assaulted in a lousy set of fortifications.

Juniper glanced around at the sudden noises, as if measuring the situation quickly. The cadets formed up quickly – shields high, packing closing the ranks of formation for assault.

Juniper glanced back to me, still holding the standard over my shoulder, surrounded and alone.

“Fire!” she ordered, and the crossbowmen a dozen released bolts at me, but an arcane shield knocked them aside. Right now, I had narration itself in my favour – everyone knew that a villain alone and outnumbered after triggering a trap could not be subdued _that_ easily.

Snake Company's ambush was closing in, but several of the heavies surged forwards as if to physically restrain me – only to fall backwards as the earth beneath me began to swell. I began to laugh.

“Oh Juniper,” I taunted. “Did you really think I would only make _one_?”

And at that, more of my plant golems rose upwards – we had buried them under the embankments of the fort.

First Company and Wolf Company were packed together. They faced me and eight of the plant golems in the centre of the camp, while the rest of Snake Company closed in from the outside.

This was why I had needed to delay her. If Juniper _had_ assaulted me sooner, then that tunnel would not have been ready and I would not have been able to create this many golems. We had been performing the ritual multiple times a day. If this attack had occurred even a day earlier, then I would have truly lost this fight. Juniper had thought that she was being cautious by whittling me down slowly, but in truth that extra time worked well for my plan.

I grinned a feral smile as lightning streamed through my hands into a fearsome arc. Juniper knew that she needed to stop me, but she could not break through the phalanx of golems.

The lightning exploded, and this time I didn't even need to aim.

I saw fireballs stream through the night as the ambush unfolded. Now, it was Juniper who was trapped within our palisades.

She would take losses here, but she wouldn’t be defeated that easily. Her position had turned poor, but she reacted well. She ordered her lines to close tighter while her heavies took the brunt of the onslaught. She sacrificed some of her infantry to hold the plant golems back, while her sappers began hurling munitions to stop me. Even I had to retreat into the fort as the bright sparks clattered and fizzed around me, filling the night with noxious smoke.

Snake Company had three extra lines supporting us now, but Wolf and First Company still had the advantage of numbers. Likely Juniper thought she could still turn the battle around. The plant golems in the middle of their formation were a problem though, so she ordered her sappers to detonate them in the same way she had exploded Leafy.

I closed my eyes, as the explosion shook the earth. The first golem detonated, but it wasn't a controlled blast. It erupted into an immense shockwave that punched a hole in Juniper’s own ranks.

 _That's right –_ these _golems are filled with our own munitions_. I had stacked the golems full of siege munitions, to make sure they went out with a bang.

The first monster they put down hadn't been rigged to explode, but that had only been so Juniper would have a false sense of confidence of how to deal with them. The others were all moving bombs.

And the impacts were even more explosive than they should have been. The plant golems were, after all, creations of sorcery and Name – which reacted volatilely when combined with the alchemy of goblin munitions. I credited Catherine for the idea – the plan had been inspired by her and her undead goats.

 _Shock and chaos_ , I thought happily. Oh yes, Juniper was in real trouble now. Her lines were being ambushed in the dark, the plant golems were shoving forward into the centre of their ranks and then exploding when they fell. Each blast felt devastating. Panic was gripping her men. It was losing position for them, and they knew it.

I heard the horn echo. Hellhound gave the order – gather up, punch through, and run. She intended on retreating and reforming in a better location, but I wouldn’t let them go that easily.

I stood up and fired a flash of lightning at their backs. Over the palisades, I saw the runes of High Arcana glowing as my elite mages had a chance to prepare their spells. A fog of purple miasma rose upwards, blending with the smokers and bright sparks. A distortion to make them lose their senses, to amplify the frenzy of the battle.

The fighting had broken down onto crazed skirmishes, and I stepped out from the fort and began strolling through the camp. My remaining plant golems – three of them – formed up behind me, while my spells sliced down anyone who stepped close. I could weave magic like it was an extension of my body – firing spells faster and more frequently than any other mage could.

I came upon a dark-skinned Taghrebi woman panting for breath in the corner of the camp. She had a resigned, weary look in her eyes as she saw me approach. I was still carrying Snake Company's standard with one arm, and she was clutching a standard of her.

“Aisha, is it?” I greeted. “Pleasure.”

With a flick of my wrist, I fired a small fireball, knocking Aisha Bishara down and setting her standard alight. And with that, Wolf Company was out.

The First Company under Juniper had already escaped the campsite – but they had left much of their number behind them. It was pitch black and the fires and smoke obscured my vision, but I pressed upon my Name to sharpen my eyesight.

I saw the remaining infantry under Ghassan at the bottom of the hill, trying to block off her escape while three lines of mages under Fasili, Fadila and Barika bombarded her from above. With our depleted forces, Ghassan would lose that battle, but it was no victory for Juniper either. She was bleeding men.

I watched the remaining First Company scattering into small parties – they were running for the woods in different directions. They split up to draw our fire, trying to give Juniper herself a chance to escape into the night. Perhaps she hoped she might rally later. That may have worked against other opponents, but I had Named-enhanced senses and sorcery to track her down.

I followed at a quick pace, and ordered my plant golems to give chase. For creatures so large and lumbering, they could move surprisingly fast.

They tried to dart through the trees, but I caught up with them in a clearing in the woods. There was still fighting behind me as Snake Company was restraining the remaining forces, but I wanted the captain herself. When I found Juniper in the trees, she had only two cadets left standing beside her – and all of them were panting for breath. She didn't seem surprised to see my sauntering approach.

She turned to face me. Yes, she was professional enough to look defeat in the eye. “Fucking Names,” Juniper spat and then sighed.

“Yep,” I agreed sympathetically. “You fought well, besides.”

“Where did you get the sappers from?” she asked, but then shook her head. “No, it was Morok, wasn't it? That son of a bitch.”

I nodded, as my three plant golems lumbered into position. Juniper had only two cadets beside her – but besides, I was Named. I could have overpowered all of them by myself if I had to.

I casually summoned a fireball, cradling it in my hand, and turned to face her.

“What were you running for?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You must have known that you couldn’t escape.”

“I want to negotiate,” Juniper replied in a loud voice. " I offer an alliance."

I actually laughed. Who knew she had a sense of humour? “I said that as a joke, you know,” I chided.

Juniper shook her head. “I’m not going to negotiate with _you_.”

I frowned. I glanced to the side – just as fist came out of nowhere and knocked me straight to the ground.

I threw the fireball on instinct, but the assaulter swerved and the spell went wide. She moved far faster than any normal person could have. One of my golems tried to collapse upon her, only for it to be shoved physically to the ground.

There was other movement – I caught sight of eyes in the night. _Goblins_. The golems were already jerking into motion, but the sappers were throwing smokers as they fled. 

I pulled myself up off the ground, feeling a throbbing pain in my jaw. That had been a good punch – and more fool me for not seeing it coming. Sure enough, I looked up and saw a short girl with dark hair wrapped in a pony-tail, clad in armour and standing over me.

“Gods, I enjoy doing that,” Catherine remarked, cradling her knuckles.

I grinned a bloody smile. Juniper was already gone – she had run with the distraction. The sappers had disappeared from sight but I knew they'd be taking position in the trees. Catherine stood alone in front of me and my golems, but that was a virtue of being Named.

“Hello Catherine,” I greeted warmly. “You’re a bit late.”

She only scoffed. “Aisha?” she asked coldly.

“Out of the game,” I replied as I titled my head. “I notice that Morok isn't with you?” I said with teasing in my voice.

Her eyes narrowed. Yeah, she was probably still sore about that one. But Catherine was too used to handling the direct sort of opposition – she was too used to fighting enemies that came from the front. Opponents of indirect sort had been sure to make her doubt herself, and Morok had served his purpose.

The Squire stopped, and folded her arms.

“So what was the plan here?” she challenged.

“ _Catherine_ ,” I said scoldingly. “Do you _really_ expect me to monologue and explain my evil plan to you – while allowing Rat Company time to set up position behind you?”

She seemed to consider it for half a moment. “Yes.”

I couldn't help but chuckle. _Ah, why not?_ I mused. It _was_ tradition. And besides, Snake Company was behind me too, and they could use the time to regroup as well.

“I tasked Morok with only a single purpose,” I explained gently. “To prevent you and I from meeting each other until ours were the last two companies left in the game.”

“Why?”

“Because of the laws of Creation, of course,” I said. “Two nemeses fighting on the same field in a high-stakes battle are _guaranteed_ to face each other at least once for a dramatic face-off. And thus, until that moment occurs, neither one of us could be defeated.”

Juniper could have won if I hadn't had a groove of Creation running in my favour. Likely she would have. As Named we weren’t guaranteed to win, but there were certain milestones in a conflict that had to be fulfilled. Juniper may have beaten either one of us _after_ we had fought each other, but she couldn’t do it beforehand.

By keeping Catherine out of the fight, I had been twisting the arm of Creation to make sure my plan worked.

“You forced Juniper to fight you first, knowing that it would work out in your favour,” Catherine acknowledged. “You dangled a stick but disguised it as a carrot.”

I dipped my head. _A skill that I learned from you_ , I thought fondly. _You were the one who taught me how to manipulate stories and make them work for me_.

There was contemplative pause between us. There was fighting in the distance, but right here it all seemed to turn quiet. We paced around each other – Squire and Heiress, our eyes locked together.

“So I guess _this_ is the dramatic face-off you’ve been waiting for, huh?” Catherine said finally.

“I guess it is,” I agreed.

Her lips twisted into the grin of a woman who had been sorely looking forward to inflicting pain upon me. I grinned the same. She drew her sword, I threw my lightning – and we collided.


	8. Reckoning

_“Defeat is only defeat if you choose to make it so. Victory is a state of mind, not a result.”_

**– Theodosius the Unconquered, Tyrant of Helike**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Reckoning**

Her first attack came hard and fast.

Her sword stabbed forward a lunge. I pirouetted to avoid the edge, but she twisted around and jabbed her elbow upwards. In her heart of her hearts, Catherine was still that same brawler from the Pit – she resorted to her fists, knees and elbows far too easily. A bolt of arcane lightning from my fingers caused her to swerve, but then she had her sword ready and darting in for another lunge.

Now _that_ was a style typical of Black’s tutelage. Short, sharp movements, no flair, but maximum efficiency behind every strike. Black Knight had long held a rather simplistic view concerning the art of duelling, namely one of: sword goes forward, sword goes in stomach, stab repeatedly. There was no form in it, no elegance – but I could not deny that it worked.

I had my own blade ready; I flourished it one-handed but did not go for the attack. I had been trained in half a dozen different schools of Soninke swordsmanship, but I preferred one over the others: _Koanguka Moko_ , the Hand-in-Falling. It was a style designed for duelling single targets – it emphasised keeping as much distance as possible from your opponent. It was preferred by those rare mages who fought wielding a sword in one hand and magic in the other.

It couldn’t be more different from Catherine’s own style, which tended to involve pressing so close she could bite them.

Our blades chimed, and she swept close enough I could smell the sweat on her brow. She fought like a brawler, I moved like a dancer. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why,” I exclaimed. “This is very exciting, isn’t it?”

There was no reply except a guttural growl – which was a shame, because I would have quite enjoyed some banter. I suppose that was a skill Catherine only mastered a few years down the line.

Our blades locked together for half a moment. For all my reach was longer, I felt her overpower me. She nearly broke through my guard, before I summoned a panel of red light to push her backwards.

Squire was a martial Name – hers boosted her physical strength when my Name did not. The fight was going to go poorly if I kept on trying to match her in close quarters.

Instead, I changed tack; and switched to magic again. She would be able to withstand lightning and outrun fireballs, so instead I unleashed pulsing shockwaves of air to knock her backwards. She dodged to one side but was still caught by a glancing blow, though she barely even stumbled. A heartbeat later and she was coming in fast from a different angle and I even struggled to catch her.

It wasn’t that Catherine was merely fast, but there was never even a moment of hesitation before her strikes. It would have been so easy to fall on the backfoot; I had to constantly keep up the assault, or else she’d dominate the whole fight.

But that wasn’t anything to do with her Name. That was just her.

What Catherine didn’t know was that I’ve done this dance before – back in Liesse, at the height of my Folly. It had been different then, but also very similar. Then, Catherine had been the Sovereign of Winter and I had been the Diabolist. My power then had been considerably greater than now, as had hers – but I could still see the similarities between the Catherine of then and now. Her footwork, her motions were the same. I recognised the same tactics, the same reactions – though they were noticeably less refined. She hadn’t quite mastered her speed and strength yet, though the fundamentals were there.

Last time I fought her, I had believed her style to be thuggish and that I could confuse her with illusions and traps – but that had been a mistake. Her reactions were just _too_ good – I hadn’t yet seen her instincts lead her wrong in a fight. In longer games you could lead her astray, but her split second decisions were perfect every time.

No, physical attacks with magic were the way to go. Catherine would never go down unless she was knocked down hard. I had more experience of her this time, I knew I could match her better.

I summoned a barrier of hard light to hold her back, but she roared as she tore through it. Without missing a beat, I twisted the shards around and fired them like fragments of glass, but I succeeded in only cutting scratches across her cheek and knuckles as lunged forwards. My own parry was too slow, and her blade sliced deep into my shoulder.

I did not grimace, despite the pain jolting through me. I could have healed the wound, but I could not afford to be distracted. Instead, I grabbed her wrist and channelled lightning through my hand – sending the sparks crackling straight into her body. She didn’t scream, but she couldn’t stop the involuntary spasm.

We both broke away, bloodied and furious.

I was panting with breath. My magical reserves were very large, but they were still finite. I was burning through my power quickly. If I could not bring her down, I would run out of magic before she ran out of stamina.

 _No_ , I decided, _this is not the right battle for me_.

I began backing away. Catherine moved as if to lunge, but I stretched out my will, and I summoned my plant golem to my side.

The lumbering shape of vines appeared behind me. _Petals_ , I believe this one had been named. Petals the plant golem would not be able to take Squire down, but I needed just the distraction.

The plant golem charged forward. Squire was too fast for it, but it gave me space to fire an arc of lightning that pushed her backwards. She tried to lunge forward, only for the golem to block her way – much to her irritation. Catherine circled around, her blade hacking apart chunks of vines apart with every swipe.

Then, I saw torches and movement through the trees. Rat Company was approaching, several dozen strong. They were coming with crossbows at the ready, I heard their footsteps.

A villain outnumbered was one thing, but I had no inclination of trying to fight the Squire while she had an entire troop supporting her.

Time to make myself sparse. I smiled, and waved my sword in farewell. “I’ll see you soon, Squire.”

Catherine tried to pull away from the plant golem to stop me, but I already had a fireball in my other hand. I fire it – not at her, but at the plant golem itself. The goblin munitions stored inside the golem detonated in a whoosh of flame, and the shockwave knocked her straight off her feet.

I was already turning and strolling quickly away – but not running. Never running, because a villain who lost her composure was no villain at all.

I headed out of the forest and onto the field by the hillside, where I saw Snake Company forming up into lines. It was the middle of the night and my men were all looking very weary, but it seemed as if there was one more fight to face. Rat Company would be right behind me.

“Prepare for battle,” I announced. “They are coming.”

“Immediately?” Lieutenant Agred demanded.

“Yes.” I turned and raised my voice. “This will be our final fight of the games – let us make it one to remember!”

There was no benefit in delaying for Rat Company. They must have marched hard to reach here and they would be weary, but we were all exhausted after fighting First Company. We had injuries, and Catherine would give us no time to bandage them.

The elimination conditions in the games were clear: either every officer in a company of lieutenant rank and above or else eighty percent of the whole company had to be incapacitated. Rat and Snake were the last two contenders in these games, this would be the deciding match.

Well, _technically_ – due to those thirty men and one lieutenant whom Morok had donated – Lizard Company had not actually been eliminated yet either. Likewise, First Company had been defeated and dispersed, but Juniper was still in the game and so they too were still contenders. The only company that had truly been eliminated thus far was Wolf.

But Snake and Rat Company were the only ones with any sizeable force remaining. We each had over half our numbers remaining. I did not know how much damage Rat Company had taken after fighting Lizard Company, but I doubt it had been much. In all likelihood, Rat Company now outnumbered Snake. And if Juniper could rally the remaining First Company (I did not know how many), then their advantage would only increase. No, it was best to fight _now_ , and to finish this tonight.

From the looks of it, Catherine had the same view. I grinned as I saw them coming through the trees. The light of their torches were glowing in the darkness, but gloom was still thick. A night-time battle, it seemed. It made sense; she had more goblins with night-vision, and the darkness would hinder us more than her.

“When the first ranks collide,” I instructed Fadila quietly. “Cast Agril’s Inferno on the tree line behind them.”

Fadila looked surprised by the order. “Captain?”

“Set the forest on fire,” I commanded of her.

A simple fireball would not be enough to set living wood ablaze, but Agril’s Inferno would certainly do the job. After all, I had already used many of Catherine’s own tactics against her – so why not apply a bit of pyromania too?

I had two plant golems remaining – their names were Flowers and Bloom – and they both followed me closely. I left the command of the lines to Ghassan and Fasili, while I positioned myself on the southern edge of our formation.

Catherine’s Name would summon her to me, I knew. It would be instinctive – she would come to finish our match.

The match pieces were set, and I felt my own heart racing. The sound of munitions detonating echoed like a bell, men and orcs were screaming – and then I saw the trees themselves catch fire in a whirlwind of flame. The scene was illuminated in burning light, and the howl of the flames sounded like laughter.

I breathed deep of the chaos and the smoke and – in that moment – I understood why Kairos Theodosian had so much fun. Perhaps villains of his ilk were doomed to fail, but by the Hellgods they went down laughing.

I called deep on my well of Name power, converting it into raw magic, and my body levitated up off the ground as I summoned fire and lightning from both hands. The storm of magic made the opposing lines stumble for half a moment, but then I saw a blurring shape dart forward towards me. None of my men could even hope to stop her.

Catherine covered the hundred yards in instant, shrugging off my spells as her sword arced. She leapt upwards, blade swinging for my skull.

A shield of light blocked her strike, and then I summoned a sword of shadow in my own hand too. We crashed down onto wet earth, but both landed on feet. We were dancing together and the lines parted around us – because only fools stepped close when two Named were fighting.

I was panting for breath, shaking – actually _shaking_ – as our blades chimed. I was not usually one to revel in battle, but now I felt the thrill of it.

This felt personal to me in a way that few others had been. I remembered that feeling when Catherine had ripped out my heart. I remembered that _loss_. Catherine had proven herself better than me time and time again. Just this once, I wanted to prove it myself.

I felt no hate, only raw exhilaration. _Gods Below, is this what Catherine feels_ every time _?_

“Come on, Catherine,” I taunted, as my blade of shadow parried her steel. “You can do better, I know you can.”

She replied by lashing upwards. My shadow sword swept around and glanced her chainmail, but the pommel of her sword came upwards and collided with my face. I felt the _crunch_.

Blood splattered down my face. _That’s my nose_ , I realised, as I toppled backwards. My nose was broken. Catherine even stopped and smirked – I suppose I must it must have been an amusing sight with my nose crumpled and blood splattered downwards like a goatee.

Still, that was her mistake. That break in the flow was exactly the chance I needed to summon my plant golems, and the two massive shapes came barrelling in from either side.

Catherine tried to dodge backwards, but then a chain of light wrapped around her ankle.

“Don’t brag when you land a hit, Catherine,” I chastised. “It’s unbecoming.”

Squire could not pull herself away in time. The two golems collapsed onto her. Entangling her, sandwiching her between them. She tried to pull free, but I was already sketching runes in the air. My magic materialised like a giant shining hand, squashing her from above.

Squire staggered downwards for half a moment, but then I heard her gasp out a word.

“ **Struggle**.”

The air reverberating with power. I felt the might flowing into her. My own spell cracked and shattered. The golems were being torn apart by raw, unstoppable strength…

I gave my reply a moment later.

“ **Own**.”

My magic pulsed, and I took what was mine. I possessed the golems with my Name – and even as they were torn apart the vines began to regenerate faster and faster. Suddenly, the plant monsters were growing in size, swelling larger with power. They belonged to me and my Aspect reinforced them.

Catherine managed to pull herself free, but then a tendril wrapped around her leg and yanked her backwards. I fused both golems into one – into a single massive writhing mess of tendrils. She tore through each one, her sword hacking madly, but there were dozens more and she had no leverage to resist. The vines lifted her body physically up off the floor.

Do not give her anything to Struggle against. Her Aspect will fade away quickly if she has no means of fighting back.

Squire’s movements were becoming frantic, strained. It took every ounce of my concentration just to hold her in place, but it was –

 _Sword_.

A blade came swiping at me from nowhere, and I flinched backwards, and I saw a large, green-skinned orc charging at me. _Hakram_ , I realised. The orc wasn’t even Named, but he had his sword and he was hacking savagely. His sword coming down and I couldn’t stop –

The blade jammed against a barrier of blue light, inches away from my face. For one moment I was shocked, because that protection spell hadn’t come from me.

But Barika was standing behind me. She was sketching runes in the air as she forced the orc away. Barika had never been the most talented of mages, but in that one moment she may have just saved my life. She confronted Hakram, her spells flaring, and that was just the chance I needed –

Catherine was tearing herself upwards, eyes bulging, sword in hand as she called on the last dregs of her Aspect. I saw her coming, I braced myself, light in my hand and –

I did not resist as her blade jammed downwards. Instead, I fell with it. A blinding light flashed from my hand and seared into Catherine’s eyes. She flinched, and my hands gripped the metal edge.

And I twisted around…

The blade scraped through chainmail. I breathed a single deep breath, and I saw blood.

My hands were bloody from where my fingers had gripped the edge of her sword. It had cut down to the bone. If I had not reinforced my hands with magic, the blade would have severed my digits. And yet I had managed to yank the sword out of her grip. Catherine had flinched and I had not – and now the sword was skewered straight into her stomach.

Squire blinked, as I grabbed the sword by the pommel and pulled the blade free. I heard the squelch of flesh.

The world seemed to freeze as the blood dripped down from her stomach.

It had been a good stab; through her armour and into her lower torso. Catherine was bleeding, holding the wound closed with both hands. On a normal person such a wound may well have been fatal, but even on a Named it was grievous.

If I had been even a millisecond too late, then I would have been the one skewered instead.

I had _yanked_ the sword out of her hands. That was not any sort of dueller’s move, but she hadn’t seen it coming. Catherine likely hadn’t expected that I would resort to such a desperate, back-alley brawler’s technique. Perhaps I myself had learnt something of the Pit.

 _I got you_ , I thought furiously. _I got you_.

And suddenly I began to laugh. They were loud, panting breaths – like gasping sobs. Gods, I was absolutely shattered. My nose was broken, my fingers were bleeding, my shoulder was cut. I had suffered a dozen different wounds that I could hardly feel through the adrenaline. I could not remember ever pushing myself this hard before. I had come _so_ close. And yet still, I laughed.

I was holding Catherine’s sword and Catherine had been left weaponless. There was a battle all around me, but I had eyes only for her.

“Well fought, Catherine,” I laughed. “But you know what I must do now?”

There was no reply. She pulled herself backwards, drawing a knife from her belt with one hand while she gripped her bloody stomach with the other. I took a deep breath, raised the sword high… 

And then threw it on to the ground before her.

My knees buckled. I raised both my hands and bowed my head.

“I surrender,” I announced. “You win.”

Catherine did not seem to know how to react. She was staring at me with wide eyes. I allowed myself a little smile before turning away.

“Surrender!” I yelled, and I magically amplified my voice until it boomed through the entire night, louder than the chaos. “Snake Company surrenders! Drop your weapons!”

People were staring at me in open shock. I saw Barika looking at me with her mouth hanging open. Honestly, I did not even know which company was currently winning the battle – my concentration had been too focused on Catherine throughout – but it did not matter. I repeated that order, and it was not a request.

One by one, the cadets dropped their weapons and raised their hands. I staggered as I walked, but I still forced them to concede.

I ordered someone to fetch me the standard of Snake Company, and then I set it alight. The message was clear to everyone on the field; it was a surrender. Lieutenant Fasili tried to keep the battle going for a while, but at my word it was done. Even the lieutenants who did not want to concede had no choice when the cadets began to drop their weapons. We had surrendered.

The night was illuminated by the burning trees. In the firelight, I saw Catherine staring at me. The look in her eyes was something to behold. I could have giggled, but instead I fell backwards onto the muddy grass and collapsed.

Snake Company surrenders. Rat Company won.

* * *

It was a strange thing; an anticlimactic end to what had been a very intense battle.

I honestly wasn’t sure who would have won if it had continued. I had the edge in my own duel against Catherine, but apparently Rat Company had been winning the larger fight against Snake Company. I suppose if I had beaten Squire then maybe I could have turned it around for Snake – or perhaps I would have been too exhausted and we would have lost regardless. No one could say for sure.

Instead, it had been _surrender_. The look in Catherine’s eyes had been one of both confusion and betrayal. I was bloody and beaten up, but we both knew that I still had more fight left in me. She, likewise, had taken a bloody wound – but it wouldn’t have been impossible for her to have pulled off a win despite that. A sword in the stomach was serious, yes, but not fatal for a Named.

It did not matter. Catherine had won.

Well, the five-way games were technically not over yet. The victor hadn’t yet been called by the arbiters. Snake, Lizard and Wolf Company had all been eliminated, but there must be too many of First Company still active on the field. However, considering Rat Company’s remaining numbers and the fact that Juniper herself had been taken as a prisoner, the games were as good as over. The scattered remnants of First Company would not be able to pull off any sort of surprise win at this stage.

The games were now a cleaning up exercise more than anything else.

I did not object as Catherine ordered my hands and feet to be bound together. They tended to my wounds with magic only briefly, though I could heal anything they didn’t. Massaging my nose with magic to make it set properly proved a finnicky task. Myself and all of the lieutenants were now incapacitated, and we would soon be escorted off the field. More than any of the others, Fasili seemed outraged by what had happened; he had even tried to demand some sort of explanation from me, but I had given him none.

It all felt rather thrilling, in some ways. I _had_ lost, but I had chosen my own defeat. I had no doubt that my mother was watching over via scrying right now. Lady Tasia would be furious to see what I had done, but that just made it all the more satisfying. I could hardly even imagine what Black’s reaction had been.

But for now, I was content to lean backwards with my hands bound and wallow in my loss.

 _What is the opposite to a pyrrhic victory?_ I wondered. _Is there such a word for an extremely satisfying defeat?_

The morning sun rose slowly over the charred husks of the trees. I sat on the grass as a prisoner, watching the dawn. One of the instructors would likely arrive soon to escort me out.

Then I turned as a figure approached. She was limping, still half-dressed in armour. I could see the fresh bandages wrapped around her stomach, poking out from under her shirt. We Named healed fast, and that wound probably wouldn’t scar.

Catherine stopped several paces away from me, looked down, and folded her arms. There was a quiet pause between us. She appeared mad, for some reason.

“Fine. You got me,” Catherine said finally. “What is it?”

“Excuse me?” I replied in a bemused tone.

“What’s the trick?” Catherine demanded. “Something is going to go horribly wrong for me now, right? What is it?”

I had to laugh.

“There is no ‘trick’. You’ve won,” I said. “Congratulations.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I agreed.

“Why?”

 _Because I was never trying to beat you_ , I thought softly. _I wanted to fight you, not beat you._

Oh, I _had_ considered winning – and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been tempting. The thought of having Catherine as my subordinate had indeed been a pleasant musing – but it had never been anything more than a musing. That wasn’t what I wanted; it didn’t serve any of my long-term plans.

I wanted to Catherine to see me as an equal, but that could not happen from a position of strength where I controlled everything. I had seen that ending already. Hence, I surrendered; I had to be willing to give first for what I was hoping to get.

But that was not to say I had held back in the fight. In fact, at no point during the games had I devoted anything less than my very best. I had used every scheme, applied all of my cunning and power. I had committed everything I had and then some.

I had come close, but then I stopped one step away from the finish line. That was how I proved to myself that I truly _was_ different.

Still, Catherine was looking at me accusingly – as if my surrender had all been some sort of ploy. I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t believe me. I paused as I considered how to best explain it to her.

“I was never going to win, Catherine,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t really want to. I just wanted to prove that I _could have_ won.”

I wanted you to know that I _chose_ my surrender. _I stand before you without power or right to my name, mortal at your mercy_.

“ _Why_?” she growled, nostrils flaring.

“Would you have respected me if I had done any less?”

I enjoyed the look of absolute flabbergast on her face at that. She didn’t even know how to reply for several long seconds.

“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Catherine said finally.

I merely chuckled, closed my eyes, and smiled. Catherine needed an enemy; she defined herself too much by the people she overcame. I couldn’t be the Doom of Liesse anymore, but I could give her this fight. Her near defeat here would drive her become sharper, stronger, harder – and I wanted that for her.

She was my friend, after all.

“I look forward to working under you, General Foundling,” I said softly.

That had been the terms of the wager, after all. Catherine was now the head of the Fifteenth Legion, and I would be her subordinate.


	9. Result

_“Loyalty is an apple tree watered with blood. The foolish and the desperate will pluck the tree until it is bare, but truly great leaders will tend to it, bleed for it – and from its fruits seed an orchard.”_

**– Periander Theodosian, Tyrant of Helike**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Result**

I found myself caught in an awkward limbo as I returned to the War College. Snake Company trekked out of the Wasteland in silence – many of them bandaged or carried on stretchers – and I realised that I didn't really know what was supposed to happen next. The games were over, I had lost – now what?

Rat Company would doubtlessly be celebrating their victory right now. I expected there’d be quite the revelry over in their camp tonight. They had just gained _eighty-four_ points – a massive total which had moved them all the way from dead last to first place. I suppose they weren’t even Rat Company anymore – they now had the right to call themselves First Company.

Meanwhile, Juniper’s company had reverted down to second place, as Jackal Company for the first time in two years.

The mood in Snake Company was rather more sombre. I caught the many glances in my direction, but I did not return them. I had not expected my decision to be popular, but I had done what I needed to do.

I still had a couple of months left at my time at the War College. I wasn’t quite sure what I would do in that time, to be honest. There was much I would need to figure out as I went.

I found myself returning alone to my tent in the Snake Company campsite, and shuffling through pieces of paperwork and reports. I occupied myself with my more mundane duties. After every game the captains were supposed to fill in paperwork regarding the performance of their cadets – making note of which cadets had been exemplary and which officers served them best – and I saw no reason to skimp on that duty.

Meanwhile, a golden scrying mirror lay on my desk, dull and inert. The other mirror was in Wolof, in the possession of my mother. I knew Lady Tasia had been watching the game. I was vaguely curious about what her reaction would be right now, but I did not attempt to contact her. I would wait for her to make the first move.

Instead, I shuffled through parchments and paper. After sorting through the various forms, I summoned one of the cadets into my tent. She came before me twitching, as if expecting an executioner's scythe to fall from above at any moment.

“Private Abigail,” I greeted. 

“Captain Sahelian,” she squeaked, standing so straight it must have hurt her back.

Ever since she had witnessed me firing lightning bolts during the games, Abigail’s demeanour towards me had somehow turned even more twitchy. I was careful not to move my hand, or else she might jump and dart for cover. I decided to show some sympathy.

“You may call me Akua,” I said reassuringly.

Abigail had a pained expression that seemed to say; ‘ _Please don't make me call you Akua_ ’. Her head only bobbed in a nod.

“I have been going through the cadet reviews,” I explained. “And you should know that I’ve put in a recommendation for you to be promoted to sergeant.”

At that, Abigail flinched. Her mouth hung open in shock. I expected her to be pleased, but instead she only appeared alarmed.

“You handled yourself well last night. I think you show great promise,” I said in praise. “It was a hard situation but you pulled through it until the very end. Many of the company’s current officers are due to graduate shortly, and it will be up to new blood to fill the gap.”

I would not be around to see Abigail as sergeant, of course. My time in the War College would come to an end shortly – I would join the Fifteenth when they moved out to face the Liesse Rebellion.

“Sergeant?” Abigail repeated, as the word was incomprehensible. “Why _me_?”

Partly due to favouritism, I admit. Abigail _had_ done well – not exceptionally, but she had followed orders and she had lasted until the end. But then again Abigail had not held any sort of position of command, so she had little impact on the outcome. Still, I knew she had promise (I had seen that in the future), and an officer role might bring that out further.

I feared that she might be overlooked in the College after I had left, so I wanted to make sure I set her up in a good position while I still could. This would be a strong start to her career; very few cadets ever received a promotion to sergeant after only a single game – and from the Heiress herself, no less.

“Because the Legions needs new blood. Callow needs new blood,” I said softly. “You have a few years in front of you, but I think you will do well here.”

Abigail’s mouth opened, and then closed. She hesitated, standing still in front of my desk for the longest time. I must admit, I expected her to be more grateful.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said finally, and the words came spilling out like a confession. “I came because someone pushed an envelope of money through my door and I thought I had to but… There were explosions and fireballs and everything was on fire – and you were _shooting lightning_ – and now I’m _sergeant_ – and I just don't know – and now _I’m a sergeant_?” she squealed. “That means I have to do that _again_? They hold those games _every week_ and the goblins keep threatening to eat me and _I just don't know_!”

 _Oh no_. Her voice was gradually rising in pitch, until she was practically whining the words. She looked like she was about to cry. Was she about to cry? Oh fucking hells what was I supposed to do if she cried?

I was not easily startled, but the sight of the young woman breaking down in front of me made me physically recoil. _Fuck, this was what I get for trying to use praise_. And now I was expected to _reassure_ her? I should have just stuck with snide barbs like I was good at.

Abigail began to gasp as she released some sort of pent-up nervous breakdown. I stepped closer, but I wasn’t quite sure what to do next so I just tapped her on the shoulder.

“It’s…” I tried feebly. “There, there…”

She only wheezed, muttering something about mystery blackmail letters and tanning shops and empty crockpots.

 _Fuck me_. Maybe it had been a bit too early to bring her into the War College. The General Abigail that I remembered was _hardened_ by comparison. What sort of woman has a nervous breakdown just because they receive a promotion?

“Ok sit down. Just sit down. It'll be ok…”

I handed her a cloth of pure silk, and she used it as a tissue. Abigail was shaking, cradling her arms against her chest. I sighed, trying to think of what I could even say.

“Let me tell you a secret,” I said finally. "Do you know why I am Named?"

Abigail looked up to me in confusion. I was not good at consoling anyone, but I did try.

“I am the Heiress not because it's my birth right,” I continued in a soothing tone. “The Dread Empress was not born as royalty. In the past, there have even been Heirs of common birth, but still they found a way to claim the Name.

“Our Names are shaped not by what we are, but by what we do. What you are doesn’t matter – all that counts is what you make of yourself.”

That was the central tenet of Praes, after all: anyone could climb the Tower, anyone could rise to greater heights. Ours was a nation born from ambition. Likewise, anyone could fall as well, but I chose to leave that part unspoken.

“You are here because you _chose_ to be here,” I said softly. “If you don't know what you’re doing, then act like you do. If you’re scared, then all you have to do is pretend like you're not.”

“Pretend?” she croaked.

I nodded. “Every Name has a Role. And that's all it is – a role, an _act_. First you convince others, then you convince yourself, and then you fool Creation itself. Sooner or later, you fit into the groove until you embody it.” I sighed. “But it all starts with just an act.

“And that’s all you have to do. Every time you think you can’t swim,” I said in a silky-smooth voice, “just act as if you can.”

My voice was a low, hypnotising purr. I was calling on my Aspect **Persuade** , and I could feel it taking effect. Abigail blinked repeatedly, and her tears began to dry. 

“You are doing fine, sergeant,” I said, helping her to her feet. “Just keep moving forward.” _As we all must_.

She sniffed. “Thank you, captain.”

Somehow, I managed to console her enough to herd her out of my tent. Even after Abigail left, I stopped and shuddered. _Is this what emotions feel like?_ I wondered. It felt so _slimy_. I felt like I needed to take a bath just to try and wash them off.

… Sometimes, I missed the days when I could just execute people before having to deal with situations like that.

I sat back down behind my desk and kept on going through the paperwork. I wrote out each cadet review in great detail just because I needed the distraction. Others were making moves, and for now I could do nothing but wait.

The next visitors I received all arrived together, and I knew instantly that this would be a very different meeting. I saw them approach, and casually I reached under my desk for an enchanted silver lockbox which I kept hidden in a warded stash.

Through the tent's entranceway, Fasili, Huwulti, Ghassan and Fadila all came together, with Barika trailing a few steps behind. They moved purposefully, not awaiting my permission. The group had obviously convened without me first, and came in to show a united front. Fasili stood at the front of the group, his expression brash and angry.

I was still writing out paperwork, and I didn’t look up from my quill.

“What is the meaning of this?” Fasili demanded, leaning over my desk.

I looked up, met his gaze and made a show of considering the question. “Are you asking philosophically?” I replied. “What, in the grand scheme of things, is meaning at all?”

The sarcastic reply did little to calm his temper.

“Do not act coy,” Fasili growled. “We followed here you because we believed you had a _plan_.”

“But I do have a plan,” I confirmed. “I plan to join the Fifteenth Legion.”

Ghassan’s lips twisted up in a sneer. “And work under _Squire_?” he demanded. “Is your Name that of Servant or Heiress?”

Never before had they ever acted so disrespectfully towards me. For years they had been my followers and they had known the pecking order, but after last night something had changed. I didn’t rise to the insult. In fact, I leaned backwards in my chair and stayed quiet, curious to see how deep they would dig this hole.

“What did Malicia offer you?” Huwulti demanded. “This is her doing, is it not? You made some deal with the Empress?”

Yes, I could see why they might think that. My actions could be considered as an explicit endorsement towards Squire’s command of the Fifteenth, and by extension I was supporting Black’s Reforms and Malicia’s rule. First my joining the Legions, then my surrendering to Squire – they had interpreted that as an indicator that I was about to depart from the Truebloods. Which was very true, in fact, but it would not be for Malicia’s benefit.

And they looked furious. After all, Fasili was the heir to Aksum and Huwulti the heiress to Nok. I had them unwittingly drawn into my defection – their loyalties would be questioned too.

“I have not made any deals with the Empress.” Not yet, at least, although there was one to be made soon.

“Then what happened to you?” Fadila asked, looking doubtfully. “Is this some sort of mind control? Has she compromised you?”

“I assure you,” I replied coolly, “I remain in full control of my agency.”

I wondered how many different conspiracy theories would arise. There was a good chance that soon people would be whispering that the real Akua Sahelian had been replaced by a shape-changing devil.

“Then answer this question straight,” Fasili said, as he loomed over my desk. The boy was even trying to be intimidating, bless his heart. “Are you planning on assassinating the Squire?”

That was likely the only justification for my action they could imagine. Yes, I could see their train of thought; Squire would lead Fifteenth, I would be an officer – they thought that perhaps I had arranged such that I could get close to her and kill her. It would still be a needlessly complicated plan, but at least that goal would have been understandable to them.

Never before had I ever had to justify my decisions to them and never before had they demanded an explanation of my actions – but this time was different. I knew they were about to leave.

I simply shook my head.

Fasili recoiled from me like I was diseased. “For shame,” he spat. “You disgrace yourself, _Heiress_. I will have no part in this.”

 _I did not expect you to_. I merely shrugged, unconcerned.

“My family has already been in contact,” Huwulti agreed. “They have told me to leave you immediately.”

“We’re all leaving,” Ghassan nodded, his eyes hard.

Fadila nodded her own head in agreement – the fact that Fadila was leaving too was telling. Fadila would be leaving to report back to my mother, and she must have sensed that her own life and loyalty would be put at risk by staying by my side. She went along with the flow, as she always did. Only Barika didn’t show her approval, but Barika stood at the back of the group and was trying to avoid attention.

“That is desertion,” I remarked casually.

“As if I care.” Fasili snorted. “Black’s petty rules do not concern me.”

“I don't know what happened to you, Heiress, but we cannot go on along with it. You betray all of Praes,” Ghassan said in a dark tone. “You are finished.”

I sighed, and calmly cleared my desk of papers.

“Do what you wish,” I said with a shrug. “But before you leave, there is one thing which I have to show you.”

They looked like they were about to storm out of the door, but I held up my hand and beckoned them to stay.

With that, I picked up the strongbox from under my desk, and carefully unsealed the container with a command word and a spark of magic. From the sealed container, I unpacked up four small intricate jewellery boxes, and placed them out onto my desk in a straight line.

They were looking at me with suspicion as I opened each of the cases up to reveal a single small white gem that looked like diamond, one in each box.

“What is this?” Fasili scoffed dismissively. Perhaps he thought he was being bribed.

“Do you not recognise them? They are yours.” I paused, and then I corrected myself. “Well, they _were_ yours. Now they’re mine.”

Fadila stepped closer, peered down at the white gems, and she realised first. The gems were glowing slightly. I saw the unease settle over her features. “Those are…?”

“Soul gems,” I confirmed. “Containing souls. _Your_ souls, in fact." 

There were four gems on my desk. One for each of them. They blinked and looked between each other, bearing expressions of slowly sinking shock.

“Just a fragment of your souls, of course,” I clarified. “I took a _very_ small piece. Hardly noticeable, really.”

“That’s impossible,” Huwulti muttered. “How could you have…?”

“Do you remember that Ligurian-inspired summoning ritual we participated in together?” I said with a wistful sigh. “Oh, we were so young.”

Five years ago (from their perspective), when I invited them to stay at Wolof and casually suggested some experimenting with an obscure, prototype ritual. That was not unusual – they had all been arrogant in youth, and dabbling with the arcane arts was simply a pastime for young Praesi highborn. They had all donated blood as a component for the ritual. However, I may have misdirected them to what its true purpose had been.

“That ritual failed,” Fadila said, but her face had turned deathly pale.

“No.” I shook my head. “It worked fine. The ritual simply didn’t do what I told you it did.”

I had severed my own soul years ago. I had detached my soul from my body in a ritual that granted me both protection and power. I still carried my soul around with me, and in the future that was what had allowed me to linger as a shade even after my death.

But I had performed that vivisection ritual on them first. What sort of fool would perform surgery on themselves without practicing on others first? _They_ had been my test subjects, and I had chipped off a fragment from their souls without their knowledge.

There were few consequences to do so. They had suffered some dizziness, confusion and memory loss, but that had been chalked up to a malfunctioning summoning ritual and the many complexities associated with Ligurian magic. They had been children at the time and their souls had healed from the wound I inflicted. They hadn’t even noticed the piece missing. They hadn’t believed me capable of it – for the longest time I had concealed my own aptitude for magic.

But now four small soul gems lay on the table before me and my deception was laid bare. Fasili, Huwulti, Ghassan and Fadila all glanced between themselves with quiet horror.

 _You were part of my inner circle for years. Did you really think I wouldn't have contingencies?_

“But that’s the thing about souls,” I said in a pleasant musing tone, “even a small piece still connects to the whole. No matter how far you run, no matter what walls you hide behind, these little gems will always be part of you.”

“You cannot -”

“So you are free to go,” I said, and my voice turned cold, “but I **Own** you.”

My Aspect pulsed. I took control of the soul gems and then the four of them began screaming.

The soul gems were my possession, hence my Aspect **Own** could control them. From that single fragment of their souls, I could link to the greater whole. With a mere exertion of my will, I grabbed a hold and I twisted.

I could have used the soul gems to tear their essence apart. I could have drained them dry. But instead, I just wrapped my will around them and tightened. It was indescribable agony to feel a hand wrangle your soul – it was like being crushed from the inside out.

They staggered, gasping, pale-faced and writhing.

“Leave,” I ordered sharply. “I do not want you by my side, regardless. Go back to your families, do whatever you wish. And I’m sure they will whisper, perhaps they will mock me for my choice. Perhaps you’ll be privy to conspiracies against me.” I made a tutting noise. “But there is one thing I want you to always remember, never let it leave your minds… 

" _You belong to me_ ,” I snarled. “And if I ever want something from you, I will have it.”

Even after my Aspect released its grip, they were still clutching their chests, as if ready to claw out their own hearts. The pain left them shaken. Ghassan gripped his sword as if he was about to charge at me and take back his soul by force, but then he froze. They were not so foolish to challenge a Named who had held a claim on their very souls. They took one look at the ice in my eyes, and they whimpered like beaten dogs.

Fasili, Ghassan and Huwulti glanced at each other and scampered away.

Fadila did not run with them, instead she lingered inside my tent. I looked at her, and tilted my head. Unlike the others, Fadila was not highborn – she was mfuasa, servant blood. But although she had long worked for me, Fadila and her family belonged to my mother, which meant that she was now torn over which to side to choose. Lady Tasia would inflict a cruel punishment if she did not return, yet I held a fragment of her soul.

Fadila made her decision in a heartbeat.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Fadila gasped fearfully. “I did not want to cross you, but they… I will stay. I will stay by your side, I promise.”

“If that is your wish.” I merely shrugged, already sitting down behind my desk again. I dismissed her without a word.

I did not trust Fadila, but she was the most useful of the bunch. I had no objection to her presence. Still, I was better off without the other three; they would run back to their families and I would still maintain my leverage over them. Fasili, Huwulti and Ghassan would be of more use after returning to the fold among the Truebloods. They would never admit to their families that I held such power over them – to do so would be to sacrifice their own standings – but they would remain in my pocket should the need ever arise.

I was a Sahelian. Just because I was committed to changing my ways didn’t mean I would be _stupid_.

The others all left, but Barika lingered. She alone hadn’t said a word throughout. She stared at me with open shock and awe.

I met her eyes, and my gaze softened.

“Is there one of those for me as well?” Barika asked finally.

“There is,” I confessed, as I pulled out a fifth stone from the strongbox and placed it on the table, separate from the others.

She stepped closer, hesitantly. I paused for a long beat, staring at the fifth box.

“Fasili is a weasel. Huwulti is a worm. Ghassan is simply an arse. Fadila is useful enough, but her loyalty is fickle. They would all betray me if they had a chance,” I said in a quiet tone. “The only thing they will ever respect is power, and that is why I need these four gems.”

I swept those four back into the box, but then I pushed the fifth one further across the table.

“But you’re different,” I admitted. “I should never have taken this from you.”

I still needed to keep leverage over the heirs, but not Barika. Barika wasn’t from any notable house nor did she have any exceptional gifts. There was no reason I would ever need to protect myself from her. I could not justify keeping her soul gem for any other reason than my own desire for control.

I sighed softly. Barika had stood by me – she had even saved my life during the games. She has been a good friend and she deserved better than me.

“I do not want to hold an axe over your head, Barika,” I said softly. “I _am_ sorry. This is yours, I relinquish all right to it.”

With just those words, I knew it would have an effect. My Aspect **Own** was dependent on ownership – if it did not belong to me, then my Aspect could not touch it. With that concession of ownership, I was surrendering my control over her. I felt the shiver as it slipped away from me.

Not so long ago, the prospect of not having control of a relationship would have been unthinkable – but I was trying to be different.

Barika stepped forward, picked up the box and looked down at the little piece of her own soul in quiet amazement. Then, she placed it back down.

“Keep it,” she offered, and she pushed it back over the table. “It's yours, always has been.”

I blinked. “You do not understand -”

“Oh, I do.” She shrugged. “But you’re better to look after it for me than I am. I wouldn’t even know what to do with it, but I’m sure you can keep it safe.”

She said the words with such simple earnest. For one long moment I was left speechless. Barika had never been the most talented, but always the most loyal. She had always been by my side and I honestly didn’t know what to say. 

“Why do you show me such loyalty?” I asked finally, genuinely baffled.

Barika smiled wistfully. “I wanted to be you, you know,” she admitted, her voice almost whimsical. “We were children together, and you… you always had this _pull_.” She sighed. “I was a girl and my father told me that I had to follow you, to learn from your example. You were always the best at everything, the smartest, the most powerful – just no matter what you did, you excelled. And I know I’ll never be _that_ , but I just wanted to…”

Her voice trailed off awkwardly. Her gaze flickered to one side, too nervous to say the words.

“I’m not here because of ambition or promises of power,” she said softly. “I’m here because I believe in you.”

I took a deep breath. A shiver ran down my spine. I could not reply – I just didn’t know how.

“I’ll follow you, captain,” Barika Unonti promised, the words like a vow. “Wherever you go.”

She left my tent with an awfully clumsy salute. I collapsed backwards into my chair.

In my original timeline, I did not ever appreciate Barika while she was still alive. I berated her often, I dismissed her suggestions, or mocked her ineptitude – and then she died in Liesse and I was left with an ache in my heart. At the time, I hadn’t even realised how much it would hurt. _I will not make the same mistake twice_ , I vowed.

Most of my retinue had abandoned me, but I did not miss them. I had what mattered.

Still, I knew this was just the beginning. The fact that the other heirs had left my side was a prelude of things to come. The Truebloods would begin to cut cords with me soon enough. Assassins would follow. I had failed in too spectacular a manner – soon my standing among the aristocracy would crumble.

No – it was not that I had failed. We Praesi could tolerate mere failure. I would be ostracized because I had committed the cardinal sin: I had _surrendered_ to one that was beneath me.

I turned and glanced back to the golden scrying mirror on my desk. Mother had not yet contacted me, neither had I contacted her. The silence alone spoke volumes enough. I wondered who would be the first to make their move.

By evening time, I had my answer. An imperial courier arrived at the War College bearing an invitation for me. I was being summoned for a private luncheon at the Tower.


	10. Reception

_“Negotiation is much like cooking. It is best done when one party is placed in a cauldron of boiling water.”_

**– Dread Empress Sanguinia I, the Gourmet**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Reception**

I replied to the courier promptly, because a private invitation from the Empress was not something I could afford to miss right now. Wheels were in motion; I had already set off a cascading series of events, and I had to be ready before all the pieces hit the ground.

I knew eyes would be watching for me, so I slipped out from the War College unnoticed and travelled alone through the streets of Ater – suppressing my Name and hiding myself beneath a worn cloak stolen from one of the cadet’s barracks. I could feel the twitching of discontent from my own Name – the Heiress was not one to conceal her rank, and doing so ran against my Role – but I swallowed the feeling and made my way incognito.

I approached the imposing Tower, showing my invitation to the gatekeepers and they escorted me through the one of the back entrances of the labyrinthine structure.

I was escorted to a reception room on the second floor of the Tower – which was one of the ‘nicer’ floors, typically used to entertain foreign dignitaries. The floors were plush carpet and the drapes were red velvet, but I passed a noticeable lack of atrocities on display on the way in. Most Tyrants preferred to hold formal Praesi gathering on the higher floors, largely because they enjoyed showing off said atrocities.

As was typical, I was not met immediately. I was left to stew in the reception room for a while, no doubt to make a point. Still, I was the height of grace as I sat down in an offered chair, clad in a sleek silk dress of blue and green. I had deliberately avoided my preferred colours of red and gold, which would have likely been interpreted as meaningful by any who cared about such things.

As I waited, I mused as to who would be coming to meet me. By my reckon, it would either be Malicia herself, her spymistress ‘Lady Ime’, or the Black Knight. It would be telling which of them came down here; the very choice would speak volumes on what the Tower’s approach was to be, and I would have to adjust my response accordingly.

And as it happened, after about an hour I saw a familiar pale-skinned man entering through the doorway, clad in plain steel plate. I straightened up even further in my seat.

 _So she has sent Black down here to meet with me. Interesting_. I forced my lips to a smile, and I bowed to him.

His cool eyes lingered on me, the same way an undertaker might size a corpse up for a coffin.

“I believe a talk is overdue, Heiress,” Black said, wasting no words on greetings.

“I agree. But such a serious conversation should be done over a game.” I tilted my head, and pulled out a folded wooden board that I had stored in my bag. “Would you care to play, Lord Black?”

He stopped, looked at me and sighed. “If you intend to do this over a game of shatranj, then I shall have to begin this conversation with torture,” he warned.

I doubted that was a bluff. Black really did not like playing shatranj. Or rather, he did not like the obsession many villains had with shatranj.

“Rest assured, I have no intention of using a shatranj board as any sort of extended metaphor,” I replied dryly. “And I shall avoid making speeches. No – I prefer baduk over shatranj, myself.”

I laid out the board over the table, and took a seat. As a girl my mother had introduced me to baduk, a game from the kingdom beyond the lands of the Yan Tei, and I’d actually come to enjoy it a great deal. Baduk was not about a limited handful of sequences, it was about positioning. The word meant “encircling game”. I had not since I’d come into my Name, however. For so long, I had kept it as my own hidden little joy – and this would be the first game of baduk I had played with an opponent in years.

But I suspected that Black might appreciate baduk also. It suited his mindset; it was a game that revolved around slowly but surely eliminating your opponent.

Black had a strained look, but he chose to humour me. We sat down at a table together, opposite each other as I placed the stones in a circle around the centre of the boards. I played as white and he as black, of course. The very fact that we were sitting civilly at a table was evidence enough that I had captured his notice.

“Let us begin with the obvious,” I said finally. “You may start.”

He looked at me, raising a single eyebrow. “You called me here,” I reminded him. “This isn’t shatranj – here, black has to make the first move.”

Black made his opening and lightly pushed a stone to another square.

“You want to work under Catherine,” Lord Black began.

“That was the wager, yes,” I said with a nod, as I made my own move.

“The only reason I agreed to that wager,” Black said simply, “was because I knew I could always have Assassin cut your throat if you won.”

 _Yes_ , I agreed silently, _Black Knight was not fool enough to give up control of an entire legion for only a bet_.

Both Black and Malicia had agreed to that wager, but for very different reasons. Black had agreed because of the story it wove; to deny Catherine the rivalry against me would have been denying her a chance to grow. He knew the high-stakes would bring out the best in Catherine, and thus he let it happen. The Empress had agreed because indulging the wager made her appear fair and even-handed before the High Lords – it gave her a retort against any who might object to Squire’s command.

But even if Catherine _had_ lost, Black simply never intended to honour the deal. It needn’t be as obvious as murder; there were other ways he could have ensured I received nothing from my victory. Thanks to the broad wording in the bet, Black could have just reduced its commission such that the Fifteenth existed in name only. I would have been named as the head of an empty Legion, gaining nothing but hollow honours.

Yet he had never expected me to _choose_ to lose. He knew that I threw the fight for no obvious benefit, and he realised that I had been playing a different game all along. That was the only reason why we were talking now.

“At the Blessed Isle, you started a pattern against Squire,” Black observed in a low, measured voice. He pushed another stone forward, entrapping me on one side of the board. “But something changed not long after. You escalated in a public manner, only to break the pattern at the very last moment. You intended that as a gesture which would prevent any sort of long-term conflict forming against her. Your plans altered abruptly, so you needed a means of escaping the pattern that you had already begun.”

Black was a very logical man, I’ll give him that. He saw the world as a set of levers and pivots, and he broke it down piece by piece. He learnt the stories and learnt how to decompose them. And he wasn’t that far off, actually.

“And so it’s a different scheme that you are enacting now, one which hinges on support instead of rivalry,” Black mused. “That implies that you wish to swap sides.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you want to kill your mother,” Black said bluntly. He barely even looked at the board as he made his move. “And you require aid from Malicia and myself to do so.”

Ah, so _that_ was the conclusion he came to. Yes, it made sense from his perspective; he considered me as an ambitious Praesi who cared for nothing but her own ego and power. He believed that my breaking ranks was my first step towards usurping Lady Tasia. He thought that my new goal was to seize control of the seat of Wolof for myself.

And the fact that we were talking now meant that he was open to the suggestion. Maybe he saw this as an opportunity for him to exercise his very favourite hobby; executing High Lords and Ladies.

“It is true,” I agreed faintly. “I would indeed like to see Lady Tasia removed from her seat.”

“That is obvious. You are Praesi.” Black did not use the word as a compliment. “But what I do not understand is why you chose such a public fashion to do so. Your sort usually prefers to settle succession issues with poison and subterfuge, not… _this_.” He made a vague gesture around the room. “And the only conclusion that I can come to is that you are desperate. Your enrolment into the War College acts as an endorsement of Malicia’s reign, your concession to the Squire was a display intended to convince us. You are _forced_ to be obvious – you are burning bridges because you need us to believe your intent is sincere.

“A month again, your relationship to High Lady Tasia appeared to be stable, if not content,” he considered, as I stayed quiet. I knew he was probing, measuring my reaction. “But something must have happened to prompt this change – has a schism occurred between the two of you? Or does Tasia herself have another heir?”

 _It was a fair assessment_ , I conceded, _if flawed in its own way_. Black believed that my central motivation was focused around Lady Tasia, but there he was mistaken. In truth, toppling my mother was only a peripheral goal of mine.

Still, there was no reason to correct him.

“I have come to the realisation that Lady Tasia’s ambitions are doomed to fail,” I replied quietly.

“I could say the same about all the High Lords,” Black agreed. “If not this nation as a whole.”

I smiled. This was already the most civil conversation I had ever had with him, by far. I decided to push my luck.

“And what about Malicia’s ambitions?” I asked in an innocent voice. On the board, I pushed one of my white stones to form a ring, countering his trap.

Black’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing.

“ _Did_ you investigate what I told you?” I asked curiously.

“If you are intending to play the Empress and I against each other,” he warned, “it will not work. Our relationship is not so easily broken.”

 _So that’s a yes, then_. Black had already discovered the mind control hooks that Malicia had embedded in his men. He would not show any signs of weakness before me, but he must have been _furious_ with that revelation. There would be cracks there, though perhaps he still believed that their friendship would survive the strain.

 _You haven’t realised it yet, have you?_ I mused. For such a perceptive man, even he had his blind spots. Those closest to him were the ones Black couldn’t see clearly. His relationship with Malicia was doomed to collapse as I had seen it collapse, but Black wouldn’t accept that possibility.

“Never would I try,” I lied.

“I tire of this game,” he said with a sigh. On the baduk board, the game looked like it was winding its way to a draw. We were both matched; he had not given an inch and neither had I. “What is your proposal?”

 _Yeah, I'm not going to make it that easy for you_.

“What would you accept?” I countered.

He considered it.

“High Lady Tasia will be tried and then executed,” Black said finally. “I do not know for what crimes she will be charged, but I’m sure we will find something. During the trial you will stand as a witness against her and testify that you saw her commit… whatever.” He shrugged. “You will publicly support the ruling that Malicia delivers, as well as all actions to bring Lady Tasia to justice.” 

I had to chuckle at the dryness of his tone. Black Knight could have been describing the weather for all the emotion in his voice. They would orchestrate a farce of a trial, and use it as a pretence enough to kill my mother for me.

 _You say it like an insult, but you’re Praesi too, aren’t you?_ I thought with amusement.

Such action would result in a civil war, of course. The Legions would still have to storm Wolof itself in order to deliver the death sentence to Lady Tasia. Still, it’d be a favourable civil war for Malicia so long as they had the Heiress – Lady Tasia’s daughter – publicly supporting them. Malicia would be able to spin such a thing; it would appear as the Tower intervening in an internal House Sahelian dispute, but not an attack on the Truebloods as a whole. The other High Lords would be less inclined to join House Sahelian in rebellion.

“In return, we will allow you to succeed her as the High Lady of Wolof,” Black continued, “on the condition that you will then remove all support from the Trueblood faction and sign a blood oath to that effect.” I snorted, but Black continued regardless. “On top of that, you will make a donation towards the Tower of half the total value of the Wolof estate – including the artifacts, tomes and grimoires in your repository.”

 _Half_? They would claim _half_ of the riches of Wolof for themselves? The blood oath alone was unreasonable, but to claim half of Wolof was even more so. The riches of Wolof had been accumulated over centuries, there were immense treasures held in its vaults. Wolof’s repository of books and artifacts was without peer – not to mention the hordes of demons and devils that my ancestors had bound.

But after the Legions were done ransacking the place, I would hardly even be a High Lady at all. Most of the houses sworn to Wolof would have to be culled in the rebellion. Even if I did gain the seat, it would be only a shadow of its current self. 

Which was doubtless as Black intended – he would allow me to become High Lady of Wolof only so long I held no power in that position.

Overall, Malicia would come off very well from such a deal. She’d be able to raid the riches of Wolof for herself, to remove the leader of the Trueblood faction, and appoint me as a puppet High Lady. There was not a chance that I would ever agree to such a thing, but I appreciated the upfrontness of it.

“I will save us some time,” Black added. “These terms are not negotiable.”

“And if I refuse?”

He shrugged. “Then you are done,” he said simply. “Lady Tasia will replace you as heir, and Malicia will offer you no protection. The High Lady – no, all of the Truebloods – will stop at nothing to see you dead.”

And that was why they were extending the deal. He believed that I was a leopard trapped in a corner. He thought that I really was that desperate – that was the only justification he could see for my recent actions. It was inconceivable to him that I truly had changed my stripes.

“They’d _kill_ me?” I exclaimed in mock shock, grinning. “But I’m an enrolled member of the Legions? Is it not your duty to protect your officers?”

Black’s lips creased, but it was not a smile. The game of baduk ended in stalemate, and he pushed the pieces aside without breaking eye contact.

“I gave you my offer,” he challenged. “What is yours?”

“The civil war between Malicia’s faction and the Truebloods is already inevitable.” I replied smoothly. “And when it comes, it will be of _immense_ benefit for Malicia to have Lady Tasia’s own daughter on her side. It does not matter if my mother disowns me, I _am_ the Heiress – and that Name carries weight in Praes.”

“And why would a war be inevitable?”

 _Do not ask foolish questions, Black_. Still, I knew why was asking: he wanted to gauge my reply.

“Because High Lady Tasia is running out of money,” I said honestly. “Malicia has done a fantastic job of clamping down on her coffers. That _is_ Malicia’s plan, is it not? To bleed the Truebloods dry?”

Black sat quiet, contemplative. Gods Below, sometimes when he stared he didn’t even blink.

“I have helped in that regard, actually,” I continued. “What Lady Tasia is likely only just discovering is that I have sequestered a fairly large portion of the Wolof repository for myself. I have been funnelling riches from Wolof for some time, and I have already amassed quite a decent treasury of my own.”

I had planted agents in Wolof who had long been waylaying funds and resources for my own purposes. I had discreetly hijacked several of Lady Tasia’s own buried accounts, while my father helped me smuggle artifacts out from the Wolof library and vaults. I had been doing so even in the original timeline – it was what had truly funded Second Liesse – but ever since my return from the future I had hastened my efforts considerably.

I had known this schism would be coming, and prepared accordingly. Even if Lady Tasia cut me off, I would still have a considerable pool of resources available to me.

“You’ve been stealing from her,” Black remarked.

“It is hardly _stealing_ , since it would all be my inheritance regardless,” I maintained.

The humorous part was that there was even legal precedent to support such a stance; we Praesi knew how to write interesting laws.

Black almost appeared amused. “Tasia will kill you for that.”

I shrugged. “She’ll try.” I expected to receive the first assassins within a few days. Those first assassins would be inept – as a courtesy from mother – but after that the High Lady would declare war upon me in earnest. “But it appears that we _are_ on the same side, Black.”

“Perhaps.”

He was clearly unconvinced. To him, the only side I was on was my own. I leaned forward across the table

“I will not give away half of Wolof. Nor will I sign a blood oath leashing myself to Malicia,” I declared. “But what I offer instead is knowledge. I have intimate knowledge of mother’s dealings – I know her holdings, her transactions, her donors. I know her contacts, her spies, her brokers. Where she gets her influence from and how she uses it. All information which I am sure Malicia will find most valuable.”

My memory was near perfect; I could recite every detail that I had ever witnessed. Every backroom dealing, every money trail, every bank account. I had been privy to so many of Lady Tasia’s secrets over the years – I knew even more than she thought I knew. She was compromised in so many ways. In the hands of someone like Malicia, that information would be devastating.

Black fought his battles with steel and munitions, but Malicia’s weapons of choice were coin and secrets.

“And I would be _happy_ to share this with Malicia, on a few terms,” I offered. “But instead of any single grand alliance to overthrow Wolof, I was rather hoping that we could come to terms on several smaller… agreements.”

I would not bet everything I had on any single deal. Instead, it was to my benefit to stretch this partnership out over time and offer my support in piecewise chunks.

Black clearly did not like dealing with me, but the potential gains I could offer were simply enticing to pass up. He was forced to remain at the table, playing the game.

“Such as?”

“My father, for one. Dumisai of Aksum – you’ve likely heard the name. He has long been kept prisoner by my mother, but as we speak he has already left Wolof. I made arrangements for him to be smuggled out.”

My father and I had been in touch secretly for a long time – communicating via our own private scrying link. Once I explained the need, father had been able to make his departure: he had left a glamour in his place and fled Wolof as soon as the war games even began. After all, Dumisai was the one who designed most of the protective enchantments which warded Wolof. Bypassing them was within his gift.

“My mother will try to have him killed, but _you_ will protect him,” I demanded. “I want a promise from you writ in blood that you will keep him safe to the best of your ability. For now I will accept just your intent, but we shall negotiate on the exact minutiae of the contract at a later date.”

That would involve a complicated negotiation over the specific wording. Black Knight would never agree to any vague promise of ‘you will protect my father at all costs’, because ‘all costs’ did not have an upper bound to a man like Black. But neither would I accept a contract that Black could wiggle out of – I could allow no chance of Black ‘accidentally’ slipping when it came to my father’s safety. Likely that would turn into a very complicated contract with multiple clauses and contingencies, but I was confident I could write something that would be both pragmatic and sufficiently watertight.

I needed to make sure that my father ended up firmly Black’s care, and not Malicia’s.

Oh, I was aware of the irony of the situation; I was asking the man who once killed my father to now save his life. Still, for all I despised Black Knight for how he had murdered my father during Second Liesse, I had never truly hated the man underneath the Name. I _couldn’t_ hate him – not any more than I could hate a knife, a crossbow bolt or an inanimate object. He was a creature of cold logic, and I had rarely seen enough of a man to hate.

If nothing else, Black Knight was a reliable entity; if I made it worth his while, then he would keep my father safe.

“You expect me to bind myself with this promise, in return for some information you have that _may_ be useful?” Black said critically, clearly unamused by the prospect.

“I do. Because for starters, Dumisai will serve as a hostage over me, guaranteeing my cooperation,” I replied coolly. “But more than that, Dumisai is, in his own right, an extremely talented practitioner of magic. And he will give you something you’ve always wanted.”

His voice was dry. “Do tell.”

“A mage academy. An institution of higher magic,” I asserted. “Your friend Warlock refused to head such a thing, but my father will do it instead.”

And at that, I saw the Black Knight pause. Something in his gaze shifted. He had not been expecting that turn. He stopped as he considered the hook before him with impeccable scrutiny. He took his time before replying.

“I once asked Warlock to head an academy with the intention of ending the High Lords’ monopoly on arcane teaching,” he said finally, and then shook his head. “But Dumisai is not the Warlock.”

Warlock had refused, of course. Spies at the time had reported that Black had been as furious about that refusal as he had ever had been. Black had later established the War College mage classes to train mages for the Legions, but those had only ever been a shoddy half-measure, barely capable of teaching the most rudimentary magic. The High Lords guarded their own magical secrets far too zealously, each house ran their own schools.

“Dumisai was the Warlock claimant,” I argued. “But Warlock is a selfish Name, and my father was just too kind of a man to claim it. Admittedly, in terms of raw power the Warlock is greater – but in terms of knowledge and understanding Dumisai is the closest thing Wekesa has to a peer.”

“It is not a matter of mere intelligence,” Black countered. “But one of fame. The name Dumisai of Aksum is not known widely, while the Warlock’s renown would have enticed students from all across the continent to come and study under him.”

“But then Wekesa’s attitude would have driven them all away again,” I contended. “It is Wekesa’s personality that makes him unsuitable for the job. But you need someone who loves magic for its own sake, not for the power it brings. My father is not like us – Dumisai doesn’t care for politics, he does not have any great plans or ambition. And _that_ makes him exactly the perfect man for the task.

“Dumisai has spent his life, his considerable gifts, studying magic – and he has had unparalleled access to the entire library of Wolof, one of the greatest fonts of arcane secrets in the world,” I pressed, as Black sat quietly. “And Dumisai will come with a selection of precious books and grimoires taken from that same library, all of which will be _donated_ to this academy of ours. I myself am his very first student, and I will use my own influence to make sure it grows.”

So that anyone who doubted my father’s capability could look at me as an example of his tuition and be proven wrong. That was why I had pushed myself so far during the war games and revealed the full height of my magic prowess – when I had known that so many would be watching via scrying.

I would help advertise this academy. I would do so for my father’s sake, although Black would still reap the benefits. Black wanted to create an academy under the direct authority of the Tower to teach _true_ magic to the Legions and beyond – all of that knowledge that Warlock had refused to share. He wanted an institution, but for years he had been unable to form one.

“My father is the single most ideal candidate for the role,” I said in a steady voice. “And I want you to give him a job.”

Papa had never been happier than he had been when teaching me magic as a child. He had loved teaching, and he loved sharing the intricacies of his craft. I truly wanted him to be happy, and this was a chance for him. He would receive new students to teach – young minds he could impart his passion onto. Only a few students at first, but the academy would grow with time and father’s fame along with it.

For far too long, Dumisai had been kept prisoner in a gilded cage. He had never been treated poorly, but High Lady Tasia had long hoarded my father’s considerable talents for herself.

But most importantly, as the head of this academy Dumisai would become invaluable to Black – and that value would guarantee his safety. Black was not one to allow important commodities to be put at risk.

I could see the cogs working in Black’s mind. He was churning through the scenarios like a machine grinding wheat. A mage of Dumisai’s calibre at its head, who was willing to share secrets from the vaulted Wolof library – _that_ would be the foundation of a true, respectable magical institution. One centralised school of learning under the authority of the Tower alone, not the High Lords.

And later – a few years down the line – the Praesi Magical Academy would work as the template for what future Catherine had envisioned Cardinal as becoming. I needed Black to place the groundwork now, to make the future a little bit closer to reality.

“Let us say I agree that there is merit in the suggestion,” Black affirmed after a long while. He deliberately did not agree to anything concrete regarding promises or contracts. “But I notice that you are negotiating on behalf of your father, and not yourself.”

“I, of course, will be assigned with the Fifteenth Legion,” I said with a smile. “I will accept a commanding role, although naturally one below Catherine.”

Black did not show his surprise, but his expression froze like stone. That caught him out. Black had not expected that I would _truly_ want to be assigned to the Fifteenth – he must have thought that that part of my plan had just been a ploy to earn trust. He could see no benefit in such a thing for me. And now he froze; the cogs began to spin in reverse, re-evaluating all the assumptions he had made prior. He was trying to find my angle, trying to place my intentions.

“Illuminate me,” he gravelled, his voice hard. “ _Why_?”

“You have your plans for Catherine, do you not?” I replied calmly. “I would merely like to be a part of them.”

“To be a part of them,” he challenged, “or to usurp them?”

“If I wished to sabotage her, there would have been easier ways for me to do so.”

“So you say. But your intentions remain suspect.”

“I _have_ broken my rivalry with Catherine,” I remarked. “There is no pattern of three between us anymore.”

That had been achieved during the war games. There were few things in Creation that could break an unfolding narrative pattern, but a dramatic moment of surrender from a participant was certainly one of them.

“Yes.” Black simply nodded. “A fact that does not make you trustworthy – only more unpredictable.”

From his tone of voice, I was once again reminded that Black _really_ did not like unpredictable things.

He did not believe me, I knew. Perhaps he thought that I was trying to squirm my way into Squire’s story so I could twist it to suit my purposes. Perhaps he thought that my current scheme was some Traitorous-esque duplicity. He didn’t understand my motivations and that uncertainty made him cautious.

I inched forward over the table, my arms folded. _I need to give him something_. 

“I do not like you, Black,” I admitted, with complete honesty. “I will never like you. But I will acknowledge that you are trying to build a future for Praes.” I shook my head. “There is no future in my mother’s schemes and I _want_ to have a future.”

“We have different views on what that future entails,” he responded in a dour voice.

“Oh, we undoubtedly do.” I nodded. “But let it be a future shaped by the both of us.”

And Catherine, of course. Catherine would shape it more than anyone else.

I was not Catherine or Black. At heart I still considered myself a true Praesi, even though my perspective had widened. I was still iron sharpened by iron. If they had their ways, Catherine would overwrite Praesi culture entirely while Black would uproot it and start it again – but I wanted it to grow. There _was_ merit in what Praes was, but it did need to evolve.

And that was why I needed to be by Catherine’s side. I had to ensure that my hand shaped the clay as much as Black’s did.

I folded my arms, and met Black's cold green gaze without blinking. “There are three things which I'm offering you,” I concluded. “Firstly, I will share information about my mother immediately to prove my intent. Secondly, you will have my father in your care – as headmaster of this new academy – to secure my loyalty. Thirdly, I promise my support when the war against the Truebloods comes.” I shook my head. “Even if I do betray you later, this is a _very_ good deal for you right now – and we both know it.”

“That may be so,” he acknowledged. “But the price of trust is high.”

“And what of acceptance?” I countered.

There was silence between us. The game of baduk lay over the table, the stones scattered and forgotten about. Black glanced downwards, and I knew he was considering not the next move, but the one after that.

“I will honour the wager as made,” Black decided finally. “You will be assigned to Catherine. You _will_ report to her. We will need to discuss this mage academy in more detail, but I will guarantee your father’s safety as a guest of the Tower while those discussions take place.

“But for now,” he added, with firmness, “you will hand over what knowledge you have of Tasia’s dealings and we will judge its worth.”

“Happily.” Though I would not divulge _all_ of the information I had, I was willing to share a few time-sensitive titbits. I smiled, as I knew matters were about to become very unpleasant for High Lady Tasia. “Although, there is one other thing I must ask of you."

Black frowned. “It is bad form to add terms at the end of a negotiation.”

“It’s not a term, it’s really more of a favour,” I said sweetly. “I would like you to approve an exemption on the Legion restrictions regarding diabolism.”


	11. Resupply

_“Why is it that the heroes are all gifted with the powers of Light? We receive nothing. The heroes have the Choirs of Heaven to guide and support them. We can appeal only to the abyss of uncaring Hells. The heroes are each led down paths of solace, acclaim and justification. Our lives are fed by salt, spite and hate. These truths are self-evident: the heroes are Creation’s favoured sons, and we its unwanted bastards._

_“And yet still, that is our gift and the heroes’ collar. Those of Above grow fat and pampered like pets on a leash to their morals, but our Gods forsake us so we may live wild and strong.”_

**– The Forsaken Priest, the leader of a Praesi extremist movement that rose up in a wide-scale revolt, eventually quashed by Dread Emperor Terribilis II. The Name has been outlawed ever since.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Resupply**

I rode out of the city towards what would soon become the Fifteenth Legion’s headquarters. The Fifteenth was still in its early stages of conception, but already parts were moving. Establishing a legion was no easy task; there were legionnaires, coins and resources that had to be transferred, allocated and wrangled.

It was illegal for a legion to be posted inside the capital itself – a rule that had been established by paranoid Tyrants who grew nervous about having any army inside their city, even their own. Still, it wasn’t the first time that one of the Legions had to be headquartered close to Ater despite that law: there were a handful of semi-permanent encampments a mile to the north of the city, encircled by ramparts and stone walls with overlooking watchtowers. Although right now the Fifteenth was little more than a name on paper, already the space had been allocated for it with the Squire assigned as its head.

Usually, these encampments were used for when the Empire mustered its armies for an invasion of Callow, and the irony of a Laurean girl now being in command of one was lost on no one.

I rode a purebred black destrier at a trot, with my red dress fluttering behind me in the chilly Wasteland wind. Barika rode close to my side on her own horse, followed by Fadila, while we were escorted by a guard of mercenaries with halberds marching on foot. I no longer had access to any of the Wolof household troops, but I neither could I travel without procession. Once my deal was finalised, I aimed to be able to secure imperial legionnaires as my own private guard, but until then I had been forced to dig into my coin purse to hire these mercenaries as escorts.

Not that I expected these mercenaries to be useful, of course. There would be assassins sure enough, but I doubted if my mother would ever be so crass to come at me directly this close to Ater. Rather, I needed the mercenaries more for pomp and ceremony than protection – it would have set a bad image for me to be riding alone.

Legionnaires opened the gates at my approach, and I rode down through the mostly empty encampment towards the walled bastion which had been claimed as the Fifteenth’s centre of operations. The mercenaries were stationed outside along with the legionnaires, and I entered with just Barika and Fadila trailing beside me.

And inside, I saw Catherine again. She sat at the head of an oval table; the Squire was wearing grey armour minus the overcoat. Her face was hard and angular, her expression tightened into a frown as she looked over a pile of paperwork. Our eyes met as I entered the room. She was expecting me, obviously, but neither did she look happy to see me.

Three other figures were waiting around the table; two orcs standing stiffly and one Taghreb man lounging on a stool. _Juniper and Ratface_ , I recognised, while Hakram stood stiffly by Catherine’s side.

“Lady Squire,” I said in a cool greeting, and then motioned to those behind me. “May I introduce Sergeant Barika and Sergeant Fadila.”

They saluted. Both Barika and Fadila had been deputised early, even if their ranks in the Fifteenth weren’t technically official yet. Then again, no one in this room had even graduated from the War College, though we all knew that would be mostly a formality. Myself and Catherine had each spent less than a month in the War College, and already we were being tasked with a legion.

“Lady Heiress,” Catherine returned in a rather chilly tone, and then turned around the table. “Legate Juniper, Supply Tribune Ratface, and Sergeant Hakram.”

“We've met,” Hakram gravelled, looking straight at Barika. The Soninke girl met the tall orc’s gaze, though it was hard to have a stare-off when Hakram stood over head and shoulders above her.

There was no wound visible, but I noticed a patch of paleness over Hakram’s cheek that was typical of healing. I could still see where Barika’s fireball had grazed him. Clearly neither of them had forgotten coming to blows against each other during the war game – it had only been a week ago, but it had been a long week.

No one here would be on friendly terms anytime soon. Still, I showed no chagrin on my expression.

“Well then,” I said pleasantly, “it appears we will be working together.”

The replying silence spoke volumes.

“If I may, what is your official rank, Lady Heiress?” Juniper questioned.

“Special Advisor,” I replied. “I hold no official command, though I would ask that Barika and Fadila should both be considered part of my own general staff.” I motioned around, and took a seat at the far end of the table. “Right now, my job is simply to assist the commissioning process.”

All eyes glanced to Catherine, as if seeking her approval. The Squire gave a curt nod, but still her gaze lingered over me. Black had doubtlessly informed her that I would be here, but she wasn't happy about it. They cleared a space for me, while Juniper began by sorting through the bundles of parchments and spreading them across the centre of the table.

“Currently, the Fifteen Legion is about two months away from early deployment,” Juniper explained. “And probably twice that before we’ll be combat ready. The Fourteenth Legion is going to be filled by excess troops redistributed from the existing Legions, which means that most of the Fifteenth is going to be fresh. _Very_ fresh.”

That much was obvious; everyone in the room was only freshly graduated, though that was largely due to Catherine's choice. She had selected Juniper, Hakram and Ratface as the very first of the Fifteenth.

“We’re not going to be a full legion straight away – we’ll be at half-strength for a while,” Juniper continued. “And as far as our ranks go, we essentially have our pick from the War College cadets, and from the provincial training camps.”

“Callowan,” Catherine cut in suddenly, her voice forceful. “They are the _Callowan_ training camps, not provincial.”

Juniper stopped, and tipped her head. “My apologies, Lady Squire.”

 _Very early days indeed_ , I mused. Their positions were all fresh, and no one had quite settled into the dynamic.

“What about our general?” asked the Taghreb boy – the ridiculously-named Ratface. “That’s Catherine, I guess?”

Catherine shook her head. “For now, the Fifteenth won’t have a general,” she clarified. “Since we’re starting at half-strength, the highest military rank will be our legate.” She motioned towards Juniper, who gave a curt nod. “I am the head of the Fifteenth, but that’s a political station not a military one. Hakram will be my military liaison.”

“And I’m here because…?” Ratface prompted, with a smirk.

“Supply tribune,” Catherine replied dryly. “Someone’s got to start sorting out this paperwork.”

“Well,” Ratface sighed, looking around the state of the command centre. “Get comfortable, cause the only thing that we're going to be fighting for a while is paper.”

“The Marshals have already done the broad strokes, but they’re leaving us to oversee the nitty gritty,” Juniper said stiffly. “This is effectively our learning period – to make sure we’re prepared for command.”

From my impression of her, I don't think Juniper had ever _not_ been prepared for command. The tall orc wasn’t even fully out of the War College yet, but already she had been granted special leave to take on this role. Juniper had always been the obvious choice for the highest commanding role; it was little wonder why Squire had chosen her as legate even when they hadn’t agreed a draw in the five-way games.

“And what is the first task as part of the nitty gritty?” I asked politely.

They glanced towards Catherine. Her demeanour towards me remained frosty; I noticed how she addressed everyone in the room besides me.

“We need to pick candidates for the senior officer roles first,” she explained, “and we’ve got to do it quickly. The other Legions are already vying for new recruits, and if we want the best we have to grab them fast. Hakram?”

Hakram leaned over, and heaved up a heavy stack of papers to drop on the table. The oak table shuddered. I recognised those papers; they were performance reports, college grades and instructor assessments. There were enough for a hundred cadets, and even more piles still stacked on the floor behind them. Our Legions were perhaps the most tightly regulated army in Calernia – but the cost of that regulation was piles and piles of papers.

Even Catherine appeared dismayed by the sight of it. Ratface sighed and went to pour himself a glass of wine, though Juniper and Hakram just picked up the papers and began to dig in.

This was one area where I had no desire to wade in. It would be poorly-received if I tried to jump into the middle of it so quickly. I sat quietly and patiently, watching the mess of papers grow higher. Hakram was sorting the papers into groups, Juniper was evaluating the candidates, while Ratface began jotting notes – and I couldn’t fault their efficiency.

I honestly expected that Catherine would have resorted to setting the building on fire if she had been tasked with sorting this out herself. 

“Most of our candidates have already been short-listed based on College grades, but we do have the final say on who we pick,” Juniper commented, and then paused. “But there is one who is not on the list– Aisha Bishara. She has been earmarked for the Fourteenth, but I think that’s a mistake. Aisha would be a good fit here, Lady Squire.”

At that, Juniper glanced to Squire meaningfully. The words were carefully phrased, but the request was clear.

“Done,” Catherine agreed, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I will push it up and have Aisha reassigned. Do you want her as a commander?”

“I was thinking Aisha is better a fit for staff tribune, actually,” Juniper answered. “Although I would recommend Hune Egeldotir from Tiger Company for one of the commander positions.”

“Seconded,” Hakram said approvingly. “Hune is a very good captain – she’s always been solid.”

Catherine heeded their advice, and motioned to Ratface to make a note.

“That leaves us with one other empty commander,” Ratface noted, who was busy making scribbles of the names as they suggested them. He had a legion hierarchical chart stretched out over the table, and Ratface was busy trying to fill in the many empty boxes with names.

There were two commanders per legate in a legion, each of them commanding a kabili of a thousand legionnaires. The commanders answered directly to a legate, but they were the ones who were often sent into thick of the action. Usually there would be one general, two legates and four commanders per legion, but the Fifteenth was only going to be half-strength – hence there would be no general, only one legate, and two commanders.

“How about Nauk from Rat Company?” Catherine suggested. “He’s aggressive and he could use a bit more tact, but he gets on well with his men and leads a hell of a charge.”

Ratface didn’t even wait for approval – he was about to write the name down straight away.

“I do notice that you are recruiting rather heavily from Rat Company, Lady Squire,” I remarked, speaking up from my side of the table for the first time in nearly an hour.

They all blinked, and glanced up towards me. I had been quiet for so long, perhaps they had forgotten I was there.

Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“It is just an observation,” I said with a shrug. “Many of the senior officers _do_ appear to be disproportionately Rat Company.”

The words were met by awkward silence.

 _Yes, that had been lost on no one_ , I mused. The majority of the officers in this very room were Rat Company, and it was no coincidence that Catherine had picked them over all others. Juniper must have noticed too – though she had chosen not to say anything. Juniper didn’t want to challenge Catherine’s authority, but I held no such reservations.

Catherine turned to face me coldly. “And is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” I replied calmly. “It certainly is a benefit to promote men you can vouch for.” I shook my head. “And I don’t mean to disparage Sergeant Nauk’s capabilities in the slightest – but I do wonder if the current skew is not somewhat… restricting?”

Catherine relied too heavily on the people she knew. That was a flaw of hers, always had been. Arguably, it was a flaw that had worked out rather well for the most part – Catherine was good at motivating the people around her to excel – but it was a flaw still. Catherine always favoured those directly in her orbit, even if they weren’t the best choice.

But that was why I had come here, to counterbalance Catherine’s flaws.

“Rat Company currently stands as first in the ranks,” Ratface said rather defensively.

“Only for the last week, and _only_ after Lady Squire joined,” I replied, raising a delicate eyebrow. “For example, Juniper’s own company stood consistently higher ranked for much longer, and yet you do appear to be overlooking those officers in favour of your own?”

“It is at Lady Squire’s discretion who she chooses,” Juniper said, but there was a different tone in her voice.

Juniper didn’t say it out loud because she was not yet comfortable enough to call Catherine out, but I could tell Juniper didn’t disagree with my assessment. Rat Company had been dead last in the ranks for a long time, and though they had talent they objectively weren’t the best. The lieutenants from First Company were likely all much better qualified and graded, but they were being shunned for one of Rat Company’s _sergeants_.

I merely raised my hands. “And I did not wish to suggest otherwise.”

The accusation of nepotism went unspoken, but everyone still heard it.

Catherine scowled and curled her lip. She had no retort because she knew it was true – she _had_ been favouring Rat Company unduly. And to be called out on it by _me –_ the Heiress, the golden child of nepotism – must have really stung.

“And who would you promote instead?” Catherine challenged. “Oh, let me guess – _Captain Morok_?”

I shook my head and snorted. “ _No_ ,” I replied, as if the very suggestion was ridiculous. “Morok was only ever ranked so highly because he was somehow allowed to field an entire line of ogre heavies. Morok is a mediocre leader who doesn’t deserve any rank above captain.

“ _Although_ ,” I continued, “if you are asking for suggestions, I would recommend that Captain Snatcher of Fox Company for senior sapper and Lieutenant Irid of Vulture Company for kachera tribune should deserve consideration.”

Those names surprised them. One was a goblin and the other was a son of a Bellerophon exile – but neither fit the profile of whom they had been expecting. Doubtless they had been expecting that I would try to fill the ranks with more Soninke loyalists and manipulatable catspaws, but instead I had done my homework. I had already identified genuinely good candidates – I thanked my Aspect **Study** for allowing me to pinpoint them.

“Snatcher would be a good candidate,” Juniper agreed, because Juniper was far too disciplined to let her personal opinion affect her professional one. “I’ve never known anyone to fortify better than Fox Company, and Snatcher leads his men well.”

Catherine didn’t reply. That must have been a sour pill to swallow because she had already pencilled in Lieutenant Pickler – from Rat Company, of course – to be senior sapper. And yet Catherine could not easily object without feeding right into those accusations of favouritism.

Oh, I had no doubt that Pickler was a very capable engineer, but she simply wasn’t the best choice for the role. Pickler had plenty of technical knowledge, but she lacked leadership qualities – and not to mention Pickler’s links to the Matrons made her exploitable.

“And the other one,” Catherine asked, features settling into a scowl. “Lieutenant _Irid_?”

“I know of him,” Hakram volunteered. “He's a bit of a wildcard. He’s in Vulture Company currently, but he’s been bounced around a few times. I remember he was nearly expelled in our second year.”

“Disciplinary?”

“He sold the answers to one of the exams,” Hakram admitted. “The whole class passed Advanced Logistics because of him, but then the instructors found out.”

“And what makes him so qualified?” Catherine demanded of me.

“Because Irid has run a secret card game on the College grounds for the last two years,” I explained softly. “Look at his record and you’ll find it rather lacking – he has suffered multiple disciplinary warnings, quite poor grades, comments of poor leadership – but nevertheless during each review cycle, the captain of Vulture Company is _vehemently_ opposed to expelling him. They consider him one of their most valuable members – why is that?”

It was Ratface who answered, “Irid brings in dirt about the other cadets.”

Of everyone in the room, Ratface seemed to be the most involved with the seedier element of War College politics.

I nodded. “That’s the type of man you want for kachera tribune,” I suggested. “He’s fresh from College, but already he knows how to run an informant network. He’s the son of a Bellerophon immigrant, even – he’ll be able to interact with both Callowan and Praesi without the same cultural bias.”

“No bias except to your gold, you mean?” Catherine said snidely.

I did not react to that accusation, but Ratface just grimaced and shook his head – silently warning Catherine not to press that allegation. It was a bad stance to take. I had neither met nor bribed the man before, but Ratface obviously knew Irid personally, and had likely attended those card games.

Kachera tribunes had to be different from other tribunes; they needed a different set of skills. They were tribunes tasked with organising scouting operations for a legion and generally handling intelligence gathering. Informally, this also extended to cultivating local informants and interrogating prisoners. It took a certain type of person; particularly as the kachera tribunes usually had to coordinate with the various imperial spy networks.

In the original timeline, Catherine hadn’t even bothered to appoint a kachera tribune to the Fifteenth. She mustn’t have seen the need, but that had been a poor decision on her part. For a long time Catherine had been far too narrow-minded – yet it would have been a great assistance if Catherine had considered cultivating an informant network from the very beginning.

Catherine glanced around the others as if seeking someone to disagree with me, but she found no support. They _were_ good suggestions.

“I’m not promoting any senior officers who I haven’t vetted myself first,” Catherine said finally, like a concession. “But Hakram, add the names to the list and arrange an interview.”

Hakram nodded obediently, and jotted down both names as candidates for those roles. It seemed as if it physically hurt Catherine to accept my suggestion. I leaned over the table curiously, inspecting that list.

“I notice you have one Sergeant Kilian pencilled in for senior mage?” I remarked.

“Any objections towards that?” Catherine snapped, much more sharply than she needed to. Gods, my help was really getting to her.

“No objections, but I do see an issue there,” I said innocently. “I have heard this Kilian’s name previously – I do believe that she is also on the shortlist to join the mage academy?”

The currently unnamed mage academy that my father was heading up. That too was in its early stages, but Black was pushing to start it up quickly. The first class of the academy would only be a crop of half a dozen students – more a trial run for Dumisai than anything else – but word had spread and competition for those spots were fierce. By complete and utter coincidence that most certainly couldn’t lead back to me, Kilian had ended up being offered a place in that class.

That would be a very good opportunity for Kilian: it would give her a much higher education in magic, and practically guarantee her a ranking teaching position in the academy if all went well. But that also meant, alas, Kilian would be unable to join the Fifteenth.

Catherine appeared _extremely_ annoyed as she had to cross off Kilian from the list.

“Personally, I would recommend Fadila for senior mage,” I contributed, motioning to Fadila sitting quietly beside me. “Fadila is quite talented in High Arcana, and she did a very good job teaching Snake Company in such a short space of time. Her skills would go a long way towards up-skilling the mage lines of the Fifteenth.”

Despite much trying to, Catherine could not name a more qualified candidate. Begrudgingly, she nodded, and Hakram silently added Fadila’s name. The others seemed to be gingerly skittering around Catherine’s foul mood.

Catherine was trying so hard to hate me here, but I kept myself perfectly civil. I showed no arrogance or insolence – I made only the most reasonable of comments. Catherine occasionally fired off some barbs at me, but I did not rise to them. She was trying to pick a fight, yet I refused to let myself be drawn in. My unfaltering politeness seemed to irritate Catherine as much as anything.

And I had to admit, I was rather enjoying this role reversal. I remembered a time when Catherine had once driven me to insanity by being so infuriatingly brash, but it was good to know that I could do the same to her with just sheer, in-your-face politeness.

Bit by bit – with painful slowness – the skeletal command structure of the Fifteenth Legion began to take form. Much of it was still to be confirmed, but we formed a list of candidates for the most senior roles.

“The lower officer ranks should be quicker,” Hakram said eventually, as the afternoon began to turn into evening. “We already have a list for captains and below – most of those ranks have been assigned by their College grade.”

He passed a scroll of names across the table, allowing each to inspect it. Catherine glanced at the list only briefly before passing it aside. I smiled and extended my hand.

“Grand,” I said sweetly. “If you could hand it across to me, I can begin going through it and marking off which ones are double-agents.”

Their gazes flickered. “What was that?” Ratface asked.

“You are aware that there are outside parties with an interest in compromising our Legion?” I remarked, as if it were obvious. “They will have recruited plants and informants whom they are hoping will be assigned to the Fifteenth. I am already aware of some names – and I will check off the ones I know to be spies.”

I deliberately didn’t clarify that those ‘outside parties’ were the High Lords, yet everyone in the room knew regardless.

“And we’ll just trust that you can identify them honestly?” Catherine said sharply.

“I’ll leave the vetting to you,” I offered with a sweet smile. “I’m not saying that I’ll be able to catch _all_ the spies, but I can certainly identify a few. That _is_ why I’m here.”

Hakram handed the scroll across the table, and Barika accepted it without a word. It was a long list filled up with hundreds, thousands, of names and roll numbers. I picked up a quill and unravelled the scroll further. I very quickly started marking off the names I recognised, spending less than a second on each.

The others were staring at me, as I ticked off easily over two dozen names. Ratface peered over my shoulder to see.

“You've marked Nilin there,” Ratface realised.

I only nodded. “That is correct.”

He blinked incredulously. “You think _Nillin_ is a spy?”

“I know he is.”

That caused Catherine to stir. Anger flashed across her features. “You lie,” she accused. “ _I_ know Nilin – he’s Rat Company. Hells, he is Nauk's best friend.”

I had to laugh at that. “And you think just because you've worked with someone that they wouldn't betray you?” I retorted, chuckling. “ _Really_ , Catherine, you do overly trust Rat Company if you think they are all so virtuous.”

On the list, I saw that Nilin had even been lined up for a tribune position in the Fifteenth – another clear example of how Catherine favoured Rat Company.

Catherine’s nostrils flared and for a moment she looked ready to snap, but Hakram placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“How do you know?” Hakram demanded.

 _Because he spied for me_. “Sergeant Nilin of Dula is one of the contacts my mother placed in the War College,” I explained. “He was picked up from one of the Imperial schools, and given a free ticket to the War College. Look at the records – he was sponsored by a minor official called Kadun Lombo, but _not_ the headmistress of the Imperial school. Nilin agreed to spend some years as a long-term spy planted in the Legions, and afterwards he was promised an early retirement in Wolof.”

My voice was calm, confident. Ratface’s gaze flickered, but Catherine shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

I merely shrugged. “Well, it is a simple thing to prove. Leak information to Nilin’s division only about some special transfer, and I guarantee that he’ll try to pass it along the very next day. For urgent reports, Nilin uses a dead drop from a tavern on Ater to transfer messages to his handler. Do it right and you may be able to catch the handler too.”

I jotted down the details on a scrap of paper, underlining the location and time of the next dead drop. “I’m sure you’ll be able to verify it,” I said with confidence, “and what you do next is up to you.”

Catherine grit her teeth. Ratface accepted the scrap of paper and did not reply. There was a long, tense silence which I pretended to be oblivious to.

“A word,” Catherine growled through her teeth. “In private, with the Special Advisor.”

The room went quiet. Juniper, Hakram and Ratface stepped backwards and headed outside the room without a word. Barika looked as if she wanted to stay next to me, but I just shook my head and she left as well.

The command room turned still; Catherine and I sat on opposite sides of the table with a pile of papers between us.

“What is it you think you’re doing here?” Catherine demanded finally.

“At the moment,” I replied smoothly, “I’m _advising_ you.”

“I know you’re doing,” Catherine said in a dark tone, “First you second-guess my appointments, then you try to weasel in your own men in – and now you expect me to believe that one of my own is a spy?” She snorted, and stood upwards from her seat, leaning over the table. “I didn’t think you’d be so obvious, Heiress. You really think I’m going to let you sink your hooks in that easily?”

I merely shrugged. “Then feel free to ignore me, on your own head be it."

I was rather counting that she would, actually. Catherine would dismiss my warning out of hand from pure spite, but then they’d do some digging and I’d be proven correct regardless. I had contributed nothing that wasn’t true.

Catherine shook her head. “I should just assign you to Robber’s command and be done with it.”

She smiled a mean little smirk – doubtlessly thinking about what fun Robber could have with the _Heiress_ in his sapper division of goblins. 

“Captain Robber,” I mused. “Is he the one who has been added to the rolls as ‘Footrest’?”

“ _Lesser_ Footrest,” Catherine corrected, “and don’t think I won’t assign you as Coat Rack.”

I smiled, clearly not as insulted by the suggestion as Catherine expected me to be.

“You certainly could,” I agreed, “but it’d be a waste of my talents.”

“And what talents are those?” she grumbled. “Being an immense pain in my ass? Because I don’t really see why I need a viper in my tent.”

“Juniper is a very capable military commander,” I remarked. “But her perspective is too narrow, too military focused.” _As is yours_. “If you would have me, I would take on a different role.”

I lowered my head respectfully, just because Catherine needed to see that I was willing to.

“I can navigate politics better than you can. That is not any slight against you – I simply have the benefit of experience,” I continued, as I stood up from my own seat. “If you need supplies, I know the levers to pull to arrange them. If you need allies in the Imperial court, I have them. If the Fifteenth needs gold or steel, I can procure it. You are aware that not all wars are won with battle, yes?”

“And you’ll do all this because you’re such a kind and considerate person?” Catherine said sceptically.

“I’ll do it because I have no choice.” I snorted. “I’ve already hitched my cart to this wagon – the least I can do is make sure the horses gallop faster.”

Catherine smiled a humourless smile. “You know there’s a saying back home about the dangers of buying a horse from a Praesi?”

I considered it. “Never trust a Praesi to not sell you a goat instead?” I guessed.

“Close.” Catherine nodded. “Never trust a horse that takes a bite out of you. The Praesi are too fond of magicking wolves into the shape of horses.”

We both smiled, but our smiles didn’t quite reach our eyes. _This is going to be difficult_ , I considered. Even more so than Black, in its own way. Black was a pragmatic creature; even if he didn't trust me, he could be drawn into an arrangement by the benefits I offered him. But Catherine was different; she held grudges; she could be spiteful.

“I do not expect you to trust me,” I said softly, “but I do expect you to take advantage of me.”

Catherine smirked, and sat back down in her chair. “Yeah, I get it,” she said with a sigh. “We’re still in the ‘I’m right behind you’ phase of your plan to stab me in the back, hmm?”

I did not reply. Catherine took a deep breath and considered the situation.

“Fine. Let’s play it your way,” she grunted. “But I’m going to find someone to shadow absolutely everything you do.” Catherine’s voice was thick with warning. “Don’t think you can get away anything – I’ll be keeping my eyes on you.”

I grinned, and winked at her. “Do you like what you see?”

Catherine did not quite manage to hide her expression of shock. I felt a wave of satisfaction as I saw her reaction. Using suggestive comments to catch people off guard – that was something I had learned from Archer actually, but boy was it effective on Cat. 

With that, I turned around and left the room, making sure she had a perfect view as I sauntered away.

* * *

It was a busy time all around. I was wrapped up in negotiating with both Black and Malicia, helping to get my father set up in Ater, trying to consolidate my rapidly fading influence, as well as coordinating with the Fifteenth. I still resided in my tent on the War College grounds – mostly because it was the only the residence I had that was already setup with protective wards – though I had largely retired from leading Snake Company.

And thrice, I received assassins, but each time they were stopped early. Those ‘assassins’ were merely thugs from the undercity of Ater who had been paid a handful of gold to kill me. They were caught before they even reached my tent. No one expected them to succeed, but someone clearly wanted to send a message. Multiple people, more likely.

I was up late one night drafting out the latest revision of my father’s protection contract, when I felt the wards hum. I tensed as they sensed the someone approaching outside, but this was no assassin. Even from a distance the wards could detect the tell-tale presence of her Name.

I stood up, draped a silk dressing gown over my night clothes and brushed my hair backwards over my shoulders. Usually, my hair would be pinned upwards, but it was late at night and I was already dressed ready for bed. I lifted open the flap of the tent's doorway, and sure enough Catherine was standing outside. This was the first time she had ever come to visit me.

It was pitch black outside, with fireflies buzzing over the torches. Catherine wore full armour with a goblin steel sword at her side. There was mud over her boots, I noticed, as well what looked like dried blood staining her gauntlets. There was an awkward silence as we measured the other up.

I bowed my head and stepped aside. She did not enter. “Lady Squire.”

“I’ve just been to the Sword and Cup,” Catherine said stiffly. “Nilin was there.”

“You found the dead drop,” I guessed.

She nodded. “Ratface found others – he’s been sending messages for a while,” Catherine admitted. “Nilin was a mole.”

 _Ah_. No doubt Catherine had wanted to believe that I had framed him somehow, but that was simply not the case. There was too much evidence. Catherine would have Spoken to him, and pulled the truth out. Whatever had gone down, she appeared very unhappy with the night’s events.

I turned and beckoned for her to come inside my tent. “What did you do about him?” I asked, as I walked towards my wine counter.

Catherine took a few steps inside, glancing only briefly around the lavish furnishings.

“What would you have done?” she countered.

“Keep Nilin where he is,” I answered honestly. “Allow him to continue sending back reports, let him think he’s safe, and wait for the moment you can feed him false intelligence. Make Lady Tasia think she has the advantage, and give yourself a chance to trip her up when it matters most.”

“And you’d be happy to just keep him around?” Catherine said sourly. “To keep on calling him a _friend_ all the while he’s selling you out?”

“Happy has got nothing to do with it,” I replied. “I’d keep him around because there could be advantage in it.”

I poured her glass of Summer Vale wine and extended it, but she didn’t accept it. Her expression was an angry glower.

“Figures,” Catherine scoffed. “Whatever it takes to get ahead, huh?”

I tilted my head. _That was not fair_. I retracted the glass and took a sip myself. “It’s just the way the game is played,” I said, rather defensively.

“And I’m not playing your game,” she growled, taking a step forward. “I’m going to break it.”

Her voice was so very bitter. Likely the revelation had hurt her more because she had actually defended Nilin. Catherine truly hadn’t seen it coming, and that must have stung.

 _This is young Catherine_ , I reminded myself. This was before she had been tempered by war and responsibility. This was at the very start of her career, when that feral streak ran straight through her. The Cat before me was still so angry at the world.

“Nilin is already gone,” Catherine said stiffly. “He’s lucky I didn’t court martial him too, but he's been dismissed.” Her hand cradled her fist instinctively, still bloodied. “I’m not having any traitors in the Fifteenth.”

I did not reply. I recognised the barely veiled undertones, so I kept myself distant. Catherine stopped, standing on the fur carpets and staring at me intently. She folded her arms.

“Go on,” she challenged. “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“This is the part where you say something like ‘ _Aw, don’t worry, I’m always on your side_ ’,” Catherine said in a mocking voice. “Or maybe you’ll go for ‘ _Oh, I’m so sorry – but I did tell you so_ ’, right?”

I did not reply, and she took another step forward. I was taller than her – the top of her head reached my chin. Occasionally, I had noticed Catherine’s gaze glancing down to my chest, but this time the eye contact held steady.

“Cause that _is_ the plan, right?” she demanded. “You sell out one of your own moles just to make me trust you more?”

“I won’t lie to you,” I admitted with a soft sigh. “I knew Nilin was a spy because he once reported to me. I didn’t recruit him; he didn’t know he was reporting to me – but I ended up with the reports he penned. I won’t apologise for that, either.”

She stared up at me critically. Her gaze flickered up and down. Catherine shook her head slowly, disbelieving.

“You are just so _desperate_ to get me to trust you, hmm?”

I resisted the urge to grimace. The problem with being a good liar was that no one could ever tell when you told the truth.

 _This was always going to be a hard sell,_ I considered quietly. Catherine and I were foils to each other; Creation itself had picked us to be rivals. Our Names were in conflict, our backgrounds clashed, even our personalities and ideals were in opposition. We were _meant_ to be rivals to the blood. I had moved past that, but Catherine hadn’t.

Honestly, my biggest chance of forging a friendship with Catherine was through conflict. I had to change the story between us – and the best opportunity to do so would be during the Liesse Rebellion – and fighting the Lone Swordsman’s band. _That_ was how Catherine truly bonded with people, that was how she inspired loyalty. But becoming fire-forged friends meant that I had to walk with her through fire with her first.

If I could be part of a band of five – myself, Catherine, Hakram, Masego and Indrani – then that would go a long way.

I paused and considered the situation. _She is angry_ , I decided. Trying to engage with her now when she was in such a mood wouldn’t turn out well for anyone.

“I know you won’t believe me,” I said in a gentle voice. “But I’m trying anyways.”

With that, I turned and walked away. Best to end it here, though I did not insist that she left my tent. Her sharp eyes glared at my back. 

“ _Justifications only matter to the just_ ,” Catherine called out suddenly.

I stopped on the spot.

“How did you know those words?” she demanded.

I turned around carefully. I could have feigned ignorance. _What words?_ I almost lied, but instead I just blinked. “I don’t follow.”

“I told _no one_ about those words, and yet you still quoted them to my face,” Catherine accused. “How did you know?”

 _Ah. Damn_. I hesitated, not quite sure how to reply. I remembered that moment in the Tower when I said those words. I could have tried to pass it off as just a coincidence, but she wouldn’t have believed it. Catherine stared at me, eyes glazed with distrust, and took another step closer.

“If you _ever_ want there to be a hope of trust between us,” she said quietly, “then you will tell me how you knew.”

 _Well, fuck_.

 _That… might have been a mistake of mine_ , I admitted to myself. I had thought I was being clever by throwing her own motto in her face, but I should have known better. I hadn’t quite appreciated that she had told _nobody_ at all.

But from her perspective, what would she think? I knew some words of hers that had never been spoken out loud – Catherine would conclude that I must have some sort of magical means of reading her mind. No wonder she distrusted me so much.

And now she was turning it into an ultimatum. I knew it was manipulation, of course, but I couldn’t call her out. It would spoil the attempt at friendship if I refused to answer.

I hesitated for a good few seconds, caught off-guard myself.

“I knew because of my Aspect – **Study** ,” I replied with a grimace. “My Aspect grants me flashes of information, and one time I used it on you I saw those words. I don’t know where they came from, my Aspect just told me they meant something to you.”

It was a passable lie, all things considered. In truth, my Aspect didn’t work like that – **Study** allowed me to extrapolate from what I saw, but it couldn’t grant me information from nothing. It couldn’t allow me to read someone’s mind. Even so, Catherine couldn’t know exactly how my Aspect worked, and so she couldn’t disprove the claim.

But still I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t quite believe me. 

There was no reply. Catherine just nodded, and then turned to leave the tent. I grimaced, bit my lip and sighed. _Damn_.

“Catherine,” I called out to her suddenly. She stopped in the doorway. “You are right. There _are_ things which I’m not telling you. That’s not because I don’t want to, but – for reasons I’m unable to explain – I just can’t share them with you right now.”

 _I don’t think that you would believe me, for one._ But even if Catherine was willing to believe that I had travelled through time, sharing that knowledge now would be… troublesome. Too much of the future could be put at risk if Catherine herself knew of it.

But that was a very weak statement for me to make. I was admitting that I was hiding something, but unable to explain why. If I were trying to persuade someone usually, I would never have made such a statement. But even so, it was the genuine truth – and I had to hope that Catherine would be able to see that.

She was looking at me intently, a frown on her face. I floundered slightly on the spot.

“But I will,” I promised in a quiet voice. “Someday – at a better time – I promise that I will tell you everything.”


	12. Interlude: Trust and Benefit

_“Bury me next to my love; let me hold him close in death the way that I could never do in life.”_

_–_ **Reportedly the final words of Dread Emperor Baneful, upon discovering that he had accidentally poisoned his own husband. Dread Emperor Baneful committed suicide near the end of the War of Thirteen Tyrants and One. The history was later adapted into a Praesi comedy.**

* * *

  
**Interlude: Trust and Benefit**

“Lieutenant Irid, I believe?” Catherine said coolly as she entered the tent, her slight figure dwarfed by the looming outline of Adjutant Hakram following behind her.

The man in question sat cross-legged on a chair behind a desk; Irid was a scrawny black-haired youth, with pale skin that could have passed for native Callowan. He wore the standard Legion uniform; but while most uniforms were sharp and polished, Irid's somehow appeared rumpled.

“Heya,” Irid greeted with a bright smile, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “So you’re that squire then?”

Catherine stopped dead on the spot. Behind her, Hakram coughed loudly. Instead of a salute, Lieutenant Irid approached as if to shake her hand, but she did not accept it.

In his other hand, Catherine saw that he held a half-eaten jerky sandwich. He had been eating a _sandwich_ as he waited for her, Catherine realised. Irid followed her gaze and noticed what she was staring at.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Irid said apologetically, and then he extended her the sandwich. “Do you want a bite?”

Hakram actually had to turn around to hide his amusement. The Squire was silent for several long seconds.

Catherine herself would admit that she was not the most militarily of commanding officers. She preferred to be approachable rather than strict. She had never once insisted that her legionnaires should salute for her, though most of them still did. And yet even so, this… _this_ was a first for her. She had to pause to measure her reaction.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Catherine said in a frosty tone, “and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just do that.”

Irid took his seat again, but not before stashing his sandwich away into his bag.

Already, Catherine could understand why Lieutenant Irid had so many disciplinary marks against his record. According to his file, Irid had not been born in the Free City of Bellerophon, but his parents had been of the People and he had still inherited some of their traits. He had been disciplined for disrespect more than anything else; it was regularly noted Lieutenant Irid did not use ranks or honorifics when addressing superior officers – and even when he did remember, he said them in such a tone that it sounded mocking. It was not done out of rudeness, Catherine understood, but rather that he didn’t really understand the concept of hierarchy.

Apparently, those in War College still told stories about one time when a young Irid had strolled onto the yard during drills with a bottle of ale in hand, and then offered the instructor a sip. Catherine felt a morbid temptation to invite Irid along to the Imperial Court – just for the very real possibility that he might greet the Black Knight or the Dread Empress with “what’s up man?”.

Catherine was beginning to understand why you rarely found immigrants from Bellerophon. Few likely survived anywhere else, and most certainly not in the Dread Empire of Praes.

And yet as she considered it, Catherine’s eyes narrowed. _Irid_ had _been lashed after offering his instructor a bottle of ale_ , she recalled from his record. It was hard to imagine anyone – even a Citizen of the People – being so foolish that they’d make the exact same mistake years later.

“That was an act right there, wasn’t it?” Catherine asked finally.

He laughed. “Not entirely,” Irid said, still grinning. “It _is_ a really nice sandwich.”

Something of amusement crept into her voice. “You wanted to see whether or not I’d discipline you for it,” Catherine remarked.

“I’ve heard it said that you get on well with your men,” Irid admitted. “Well, actually I heard that there’s no stick up your ass, pardon the term. And you must have heard my reputation too, but you wanted to interview me anyways, so I figured…” He shrugged. “I thought it might break the ice if I brought a sandwich with me.”

“I could have you lashed right now for simple disrespect,” Catherine commented, taking a seat opposite him. “If I were my mentor, it would have been a lot more than just a lash.”

He grinned. “Lucky you’re not, then.”

It had been a test, just so he could measure how she’d react. Still, Catherine had to admire the balls, as foolhardy as they were. Most people walked on eggshells around Named – and rightly so. Catherine honestly couldn’t imagine what would happen if anyone ever greeted the Black Knight in such a manner, but she rather doubted if they’d ever eat a sandwich again.

“You’ve been recommended for kachera tribune,” Catherine said dryly.

“Yep, I'd be good at it,” Irid replied, matter-of-fact.

Her eyebrow raised. “You want to be a spy?”

“I want to be a spy _officer_ ,” he corrected. “I even thought about joining the Eyes of the Empire once but, you know, those tattoos.” He shuddered, motioning to his cheek. “They wouldn’t match my skin tone. Plus I’m afraid of needles.”

Despite herself, Catherine snorted. Irid spoke with a cheerful smile, but there was a sharpness in his gaze too. He was not a complete fool this one, despite the risky introduction. Still, there was one thing she wanted to know about above all others.

“Tell me about Akua Sahelian,” she demanded, leaning back in her chair.

“That’s that heiress, right?” Irid said the Name with such nonchalance – for him he didn’t include its capital letter. “She took over Snake Company two months ago, played two war games, and then ‘retired’. Still, in the last few games Snake Company has been doing pretty well without her – she left the company after assigning new officers and teaching their mages a few new tricks, and that’s held them up steady.

“Oh, and did you know she has a protege she left behind?” he added. “A Callowan girl, even.”

Catherine frowned. “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “A _protege_?”

“Yep, a girl named Abigail,” Irid confirmed. “She’s barkeep’s daughter from Summerholm, her uncle runs a tanner shop. She arrived at the same time as Akua did, and already she’s been fast-tracked to sergeant. They say Abigail is going to make captain in a year.” He chuckled. “Real nervous girl – twitchy, but she plays a surprisingly good hand of cards.”

“And why call her Akua’s protege?” Catherine asked sceptically.

“Cause Akua requested her specifically, but tried to be discreet about it,” Irid clarified. “And I hear Abigail’s family got paid a good amount of gold _anonymously_ for her to come here. Akua has definitely been pushing Abigail along, but she’s trying not to make it obvious.

“As to the ‘why’, that I can’t say – there was some speculation they might be lovers, but I seriously doubt it.” He shrugged. “The best I can guess is that Akua met Abigail in Summerholm somehow, and took a liking to her.”

 _Huh_. Catherine hadn't been aware of that, but it was interesting. Catherine would have said that such a thing was unexpected of Akua Sahelian, but the Heiress had been doing many unexpected things recently. Catherine mentally filed the name ‘Abigail of Summerholm’ away for further investigation.

“I’ll be blunt,” Catherine said simply. “Do you work for Akua Sahelian?”

Irid shook his head. “Never even met her,” he replied in a plain voice. “I _have_ met one of the little followers of hers – Fasili Mirembe. He tried to buy information on the other cadet grades from me once.”

“Tried to,” she noted. “You didn't sell?”

“Not to _him_. He was an arrogant swine, and I didn’t really want involved.” He shrugged. “But later, his lot were ran out of the camp – and they were _real_ panicked when they left too. They had a falling out with their boss, my guess is that some threats were made.”

 _Fasili Mirembe_ , Catherine recalled. He was the heir to Aksum, and apparently one of Akua’s companions at one point. But there had been falling out?

"What sort of threats?” she queried.

“Dunno, her tent was sealed – with one of those magic thingies that stop eavesdropping too.” Irid sighed rather despondently. “But if you want to know what happened, you should ask Fadila Mibafeno or Barika Unonti. They were both in the room when it went down, yet those two ended up staying when the rest of them left.”

He spoke in a casual tone, but with clear confidence. From Catherine’s impression, very little happened in the War College that Irid wasn’t aware of. _He is deliberately feeding me titbits of information that I want to know, without even being asked_. Irid glanced up at her, and his eyes sparkled.

“You know, I figured that you might be interested in that Akua,” he mused, and then he bent over and reached down into his bag. “Here, you should have this.”

For one moment, Catherine feared he was about to pull out another sandwich, but instead he handed her a large stack of bound papers.

“What is this?”

“ _That_ is a list of everywhere Akua has gone in the last month,” Irid said with faint smugness. “I’ve got copies of the orders she’s sent, the people she’s talked to, messages she’s received – even the names of those mercenaries she’s hired. One of them has a gambling addiction and a bad bluff face.” He chuckled. “I also paid some messenger boys to tail her. Though she’s been into the Tower quite a lot and I can't follow her properly when she’s in _there –_ but I do know from a girl I’m seeing that she’s talked to the Empress at least twice.”

Catherine looked surprised. _He did this by himself?_ she wondered. _In advance of this interview?_

“I do my homework,” Irid answered to her unspoken question. “It’s how I’ve lasted this long.”

There were dozens of pages of very detailed notes, all written in a precise hand. Irid had certainly been keeping an eye out. _So he is cleverer than lets himself appear_. Irid was not exactly handsome, but he had an easy-going confidence about him that was attractive in its own right.

“Do you have one of these about me too?” Catherine wondered.

“I do,” Irid confirmed, and then he pulled out another large bundle of papers marked with her name. Catherine flicked through it, and saw a fairly accurate timetable of all her recent activities – even the ones she thought she had done in secret.

Catherine turned the pages and folded her arms. _Ok, he is competent_ , she considered. _But is he loyal?_ Always the more difficult question.

She motioned to the two bundles of reports. “Why did you do this?”

“Cause I thought it’d impress you, of course.”

“Have you sold this information to anyone else?” she demanded.

“Not yet,” he replied. “And nor will I, if you give me the job.”

 _Was that a threat?_ Catherine laughed. “I am honestly not sure whether you’re very smart or incredibly stupid,” she admitted, more amused then angry.

Irid raised his hands and shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure himself. “I’m practical,” he answered, grinning once again. “I’ve broken no laws – it's no crime writing about what people told me, or what I've seen people doing. And there are some people who do pay for some of the stuff I write.”

“ _This_ is how you’ve funded your way through the War College?” she guessed.

He nodded. “Got to pay the bills somehow.”

“As a private spy for hire,” she mused. It made sense – there were usually so many schemes and plots happening in Ater that a clever person with their ear to the ground probably could turn a profit simply by listening to gossip and watching the various comings and goings. “Some would call that disloyalty.”

“If I were a disloyal person,” Irid argued, “then I wouldn’t be admitting it so upfront.”

“That is true,” Catherine supposed. “Only a very honest person would admit to so much dishonesty.”

“Hey – it’s a job,” he protested, defensively. “This is just how I prove I’m qualified. But if I’m with the Fifteenth, I’ll do nothing that’s not _for_ the Fifteenth. I’ll report to you, and no one else.”

“And what do you want out of the Legions?” Catherine asked meaningfully.

“What does everyone want?” he said with a shrug. “Coin, good food, wine – maybe a nice little plot of land to retire on.”

“Akua Sahelian could offer you all that too.” _And much more, most likely_.

Irid shook his head. “Nah. Wrong blood me – the most _they_ would ever have me as is a servant,” he said dismissively. “Plus if I wanted to be a slave for some magical hags that could explode my head, I’d have stayed at home.

“I know which side my bread is buttered,” Irid continued, and his voice turned a bit more serious. “The future that you and that black man are pushing for is the one that works for me.”

Prior to Black’s Reforms, Catherine considered, the son of a Free City’s immigrant would never have been able to join the Legions at all, let alone graduate from the War College.

Catherine spent the next quarter of a bell quizzing Lieutenant Irid on his roles, how he gathered intelligence, and, most importantly, who he answered to. When she was done, Catherine left the tent alongside Hakram, and behind her she noticed the lieutenant immediately returning to his sandwich.

“So that’s Irid,” Catherine said finally.

“His attitude is an act he puts on,” Hakram said as if in explanation. “Well, partly, at least. It makes people more willing to talk to him.”

That was the impression Catherine had also received. Irid leaned into the clueless Bellerophonian stereotype for his own benefit. It would have been very easy to dismiss him on first impressions alone, if not the bundles of information he had handed out. Catherine had seen reports from professional spies that were a lot less thorough. But Irid had no network or subordinates working for him, which meant that he had gathered everything _on his own_.

And strangely, Catherine realised that she actually rather liked the man, for all he was a self-confessed, double-dealing information broker. There was an honest earnesty about him that he had somehow managed to exploit for spywork. It _was_ a manipulation, but it wouldn’t be so effective if it wasn’t genuine.

“He doesn’t belong to Heiress,” Catherine conceded.

“Nope,” Hakram agreed. “Irid is about the one man who just wouldn’t give a damn about what family she comes from. You could do worse for kachera tribune.”

 _It is a point,_ she considered. The Fifteenth would not have much of a budget to fund any sort of informant network, but from her impression Kachera Tribune Irid would be a man capable of achieving much from very little resources. Even so, she felt a niggling sensation of doubt.

Catherine was honest enough to admit – to herself only, nobody else – that if she had discovered Irid on her own, she likely wouldn’t have been so hesitant about appointing him. Yet it was just the fact that since _Akua Sahelian_ had been the one to recommend him…

Then again – if she was being _really_ honest with herself – all of Akua's recommendations so far had been good ones. Captain Snatcher of Fox Company had proven to be very agreeable and competent, and a good pick for senior sapper. Even the most controversial recommendation Akua had made – Fadila Mibafeno for senior mage – had shown herself to be quite capable. Catherine didn’t doubt that Fadila was Akua’s creature body and soul, but Fadila likely would make an effective senior mage regardless.

Which was just so _frustrating_ – Akua had just been so damn helpful. _I swear,_ Catherine thought, _even when she's helping she still finds a way to irritate me._

That help had come in useful in various ways. Recently, there had been issues with the Fifteenth's supply allocation when one local bureaucrat – _Commissioner Rashid_ – had tried to redirect them elsewhere. Catherine herself had been ready to go in and release Captain Robber on the man – but it had been Heiress who sorted the issue first. Akua had managed to negotiate some deal over a cup of tea, and then days later the Fifteenth had ended up with all their supplies and then some.

Before that, Catherine had once mentioned that there was a problem that the Callowan and Praesi recruits in the Fifteenth weren’t mingling out-of-hours – the two factions usually kept to their own haunts and taverns and that there was a risk of schisms forming in the ranks. The very next day, Akua had begun paying local taverns (with her own money) to offer highly discounted rates for members of the Fifteenth. Catherine wouldn’t have even thought of such a solution, but it had worked – if they wanted cheap ale, the recruits were forced to drink and bond in the same taverns.

Not to mention how Akua had cleared house in the Fifteenth. There had been nearly half a hundred different spies mixed into the Fifteenth's ranks, but Akua had done a very effective job of identifying them all. _Then again_ , Catherine thought with some bitterness, _it must be easy to weed them out when you planted most of them yourself_.

Catherine would – begrudgingly – admit that having Akua around had its benefits. If Catherine was a blunt instrument who charged through obstacles, then the Heiress was good at clearing the road. Even so, Catherine needed people she could trust in the Fifteenth. She vividly remembered Nilin, the blood splattering from his jaw as her fist… _No, not now_ , Catherine cursed. It would only make her more sour to think back on that.

Catherine and Hakram headed through the heaving encampment filled with orcs and men going about their drills, towards the walled bastion that formed the command centre. They both noticed the private guardsmen lingering outside, indicating that the Heiress had already arrived.

“What do you think of her?” Catherine asked in a low voice. She spoke in Kharsum, so that they could not be so easily overheard by the surrounding Soninke and Taghreb.

There was no question of who she was asking about. For nearly a month, Hakram had been assigned as Akua’s handler, keeping an eye on every move she made.

“I know that Barika of hers is a _shjsisu_ ,” Hakram grumbled with some vehemence. Catherine did not recognise that Kharsum word, though she suspected some unflattering term for sheep. “She gets in my way constantly and makes my life difficult. _She’s_ typical arrogant old blood.”

Hakram had begun something of a feud with Akua's assistant, Barika, Catherine recalled. Perhaps that was hardly surprising: Hakram was Catherine’s right hand and Barika was firmly Akua’s, the two were guaranteed to clash. Catherine had assigned Hakram to watch over the Heiress, but Barika often ran interference against him. The two underlings argued more frequently than the Squire and Heiress themselves did, in truth.

“But what about her?” Catherine insisted, lingering outside the door. “What do you think of the Heiress?”

Her adjutant glanced downwards. “You _want_ me to say that I don’t like her, don’t you?” he remarked quietly.

Catherine’s frown deepened, but she did not reply. Hakram was no fool, and far too perceptive sometimes.

“Akua has treated me with nothing but respect,” Hakram said with a simple shrug. “I wouldn’t have expected it from her, but she has surprised me. She has been civil, once she even offered to play a game of shatranj with me. We’re not _friends_ in any sense, but Akua Sahelian has given me no reason for enmity.” He paused, and then added, “Other than her choice of subordinates.”

“It’s an act,” Catherine muttered, slightly miffed that Hakram – an orc from the Steppes – could speak so civilly about the Heiress.

“It might be,” Hakram conceded. “But so might anything else.”

 _Yes_ , Catherine thought with a sigh, _and_ _that’s the most frustrating part_. Akua had so far given every indication that she was prepared to play the long game. There were clear signs Akua was willing to spend months or even years building relations and integrating herself with the Fifteenth. Even Black – who was one of the most suspicious people Catherine had ever known – agreed that Akua had committed too much to double-cross them anytime soon.

 _Always expect that a double-cross is coming_ , Black had added, _but in the meantime it seems we must act as allies_.

 _Fucking Praesi_ , Catherine silently cursed. She actually preferred it when Akua had been threatening to murder orphans, because at least then Catherine knew where their relationship stood. That had been simple. But now it had been _months_ , and it was tiring to constantly keep her guard up – watching for signs of any betrayal, bracing herself for that inevitable other shoe.

Inside the command room, it appeared as if an impromptu general meeting was already underway. Catherine overhead snippets of a conversation as she came in through the door.

“– ideal disposable shock soldiers.” That was Akua’s voice – her silky highborn accent was unmistakable. “And when employed against common armies they are guaranteed to inflict panic -” 

“It does not meld with Legion doctrine –” Juniper’s gruff voice replied.

“It has been a staple of Praesi military strategy for centuries,” Akua insisted. “I can provide records detailing effective tactics of successful integration –”

“All pre-Reform.”

“Still a perfectly valid strategy,” Akua protested. “Just because it is not commonplace is no –”

“ _Lady Squire,_ ” Commander Hune spoke up suddenly, in her low and surprisingly soft voice. The large ogre spotted Catherine entering through the door.

At once, everyone in the room straightened to attention, with the exception of Hune herself. Commander Hune was so tall that she could not straighten or else she’d hit her head off the high stone ceiling – instead she had to crouch with her knees bent in the corner of the room, blocking off an entire wall with her mass.

Catherine rather enjoyed having Hune present in a room, actually. It usually made everyone else seem as short as she was. Even Hakram and Juniper – both over seven foot tall – had to look upwards and speak louder when they addressed Hune.

The conversation stopped as Catherine entered. She glanced around, measuring the atmosphere of the room; Juniper and Akua both stood around the centre table, in a pose that suggested they had been arguing. Juniper had her arms folded, while the Heiress looked as irritated as Catherine had ever seen her. Something from Hune’s expression suggested the commander had been trying to avoid getting involved between them.

“Lady Squire,” Juniper greeted. “How did it go with the interview?”

“I’m inclined to give Kachera Tribune Irid a shot. _Probationary_ , for now,” Catherine replied, but then glanced between the pair. “What was that discussion about?”

Akua answered first. Everyone else in the room was clad in armoured uniform, but Akua still wore fine dresses like she was about to attend a ball. The Heiress' dress today was silky yellow with a high collar, and gemstones patterned between the frills – perfectly tailored to her considerable curves. Catherine suspected that the dress was also enchanted somehow – it managed to reflect the light a bit too brightly even in the dimly lit room – but Catherine tried to avoid staring.

“I was simply discussing the possibility of integrating diabolism alongside the Fifteenth,” Akua said with a smile, “and employing Lesser Devils as auxiliaries in battle.”

Catherine snorted. “Denied.”

Akua could not quite hide the pained flicker from her features. “I was granted an exemption,” the Heiress noted.

“You were not,” Catherine countered. “You were allowed a _relaxation_. At my discretion only.”

Catherine was aware that Heiress had cut some deal with Black, though she hadn’t been involved with the exact minutiae of the agreement. Something to do with an academy that was being founded in Ater. Mind, one of the items that Black had agreed to was to relax the restrictions concerning the use of diabolism in the Legions.

Black would never have agreed to an outright permittance of demons and devils, of course, but he had been persuaded to offer up some leniency. Anything involving demons remained altogether banned. Likewise, the use of Greater Devils and Lesser Hellgates remained forbidden. Some devil summoning _was_ permitted, but only with prior approval from both the commanding officer of the Legion and the Tower.

Any bound devils or pre-existing contracts were thus classed as military assets; they had to be surrendered and inspected by Legion officiants before they could be employed. Catherine understood the reasoning there; she had learnt (unsurprisingly) that Akua had access to many sealed devils and grimoires from the Wolof repository – which were effectively contracts with named entities in Hells that allowed those devils to be brought into Creation. Yet if Akua wanted to make use of those while part of the Legions, she would have to hand them over to Catherine beforehand for ‘inspection’.

Not that Catherine herself was even capable of inspecting such things, but that hardly mattered. If Akua _did_ offer any artifacts up, Catherine had no problem keeping a hold of them in indefinite confiscation. Black's allowance had been little more than lip service – Akua wouldn't be able to summon so much as an imp without Catherine's permission.

Akua’s brow creased, which was practically a display of furious anger by her standards.

“You have one of the most talented practitioners of the generation in your Legion,” Akua argued. “And I have in my possession banners of bound devils and ancient contracts from the Wolof repository. It would be _foolish_ not to use me to the full effect.”

“How many do you have?” Catherine asked curiously.

She hesitated. “I could achieve a secure binding of two hundred Lesser Devils with minimal risk,” Akua admitted. “Walin-falme and Kichabwa only.”

 _Yeah, as if I’m ever trusting you with an army of devils_. Now, Akua _could_ summon those devils regardless, but at which point Catherine would have complete justification to finally stab her in the stomach.

“The Reforms avoided such tactics because using devils is considered too risky,” Juniper remarked, her eyes narrowed. 

“Black dismissed these tactics _only_ because he was unable to make use of them himself,” Akua argued. “But consider the Warlock – he has never shunned away from devil summoning when it is useful. He even married an incubus.”

Catherine shook her head. “An army that relies on sorcery over steel has far too many points of collapse,” she said sternly.

“I’m not suggesting _relying_ on them, I’m suggesting using them as an auxiliary force. A phalanx of devils is a cheap, replaceable unit – why not let the devils take the brunt of casualties instead of our soldiers?”

“Because devils are unpredictable,” Juniper replied levelly. “They have no discipline, limited intelligence, and letting them loose is a wildcard on the battlefield. What happens if those devils turn on our own soldiers instead of the enemy?”

“Devils are _not_ unpredictable.” Akua shook her head. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Devils are deterministic creatures with no free will of their own. Each of them will be bound by contracts, and they will obey it to the very letter,” she insisted. “And I propose that for each contract, I will add further stipulations forbidding them from harming any member or ally of the Fifteenth Legion. I will also add contingencies that will forcefully banish each being back to Hells once their usage expires.

“Adding new terms in the contract will limit us to a weaker quantity, yes, but it will guarantee their reliability.”

 _She is really pushing for this, huh?_ Catherine thought quietly. _Interesting_. For the last month Akua had been careful to toe the line, yet this was the first subject she was committed enough to push.

In truth, Catherine didn’t really know much about devils. The House of Light had mentioned them often, but always sparsely on details. From the reading materials Black had given her, Catherine did remember learning that devils _would_ honour any deal explicitly. _But that was how they tricked you_ , she recalled; _even simple devils will obey the deal to the letter, and then make you suffer in ways you hadn’t even considered_. For weaker devils this was usually just a matter of coming back later and eating you after the deal expired, but the older devils were the worst. Devils grew more intelligent with age, and ancient Greater Devils could be truly cunning. Some creatures were better left in Hells.

No, it was far too much risk for the Fifteenth to dabble with such things. Anyone who tried to leash wolves should expect to be bit.

“It is too easily exploited. Too much potential to go wrong,” Catherine said firmly, and then she smiled with mock sweetness. “Why, what would happen if you made a mistake with the spell?”

Akua only stared flatly, clearly unconvinced that Catherine was truly concerned about a ‘mistake’ on her part.

“And not to mention that Fifteenth will likely be based in Callow,” Catherine continued, “and if it becomes known that we are _summoning devils_ then it will set the whole House of Light against us.”

Genuine annoyance flashed across Akua’s smooth features for a moment, too frustrated to hide behind her facade. _What do you know – she does have real emotions_.

“It is foolish to dismiss a valid strategy based on unwarranted fears,” Akua said in a dark tone, “and higher sorcery _can_ be a trump card. It can easily turn a battle around, as you should both recall.”

That reference to the five-way games caused Catherine herself to darken. Catherine might have lost her temper and ended the conversation there, but Juniper spoke up first.

“What of those plant creatures you used during those games?” Juniper queried.

It appeared that Juniper was willing to entertain the notion further. Catherine grimaced, but she could not reprimand Akua for persisting with the talk without stepping on Juniper’s toes. It appeared that Juniper was also against the suggestion – but this _was_ a military strategy and that Legate Juniper would be failing her job if she didn’t consider it in full.

Heiress shook her head. “Such golems are not feasible in larger numbers,” Akua admitted. “They each require too much investment to form as well as continuous upkeep to maintain. I would struggle to manage any more than a dozen.” She sighed. “But the key advantage of diabolism is quantity and availability. Through diabolism, we could feasibly bind _hundreds_ of Lesser Devils, summoned immediately for very little cost.”

“At _what_ cost?” Catherine demanded.

“Some material ritual components. We would need to train a few dedicated ritual casters from our mages.” The Heiress paused fractionally. “And some donated blood from each person in the Fifteenth.”

At that, Juniper looked appalled. Her fangs clenched. “You expect to _bleed_ our men?”

“Not before battle, and _only_ voluntarily,” Akua protested, but it was a losing argument. “I expect that some blood tithe could be organised.” She paused. “Perhaps I could arrange some minor rewards as compensation.”

“ _No_.”

Juniper said that word with finality. The legate was clearly not willing to consider enforcing any sort of blood tithe within the Fifteenth. And understandably too; neither the orcs nor the Callowans of the Fifteenth would ever agree to it. Akua’s lips pursed.

“I think we are done here, Special Advisor,” Catherine said coolly.

The Heiress hesitated for only a moment, before changing her tact.

“Allow me one more suggestion. Perhaps a smaller-scale deployment would be amenable,” Akua said smoothly, looking to Juniper again. “Can you imagine the use of _flying_ , shapeshifting scouts, with the capability of instantly relaying intelligence across great distances?”

Akua was clearly aware that the only way Catherine could be persuaded was if she convinced Juniper first. The legate paused. “What are you suggesting?”

“We employ devils as forward scouts instead of shock troops,” Akua proposed. “Weaker Lesser Devils chosen for their ability to fly. I could bind more intelligent devils, capable of searching an area and relaying information far more accurately than scrying.” She hesitated, glancing back to Squire. “If need be, I could ensure they can shapeshift into… more _innocuous_ forms, as to not arouse the ire of religious men. Some breeds of devils are even capable of invisibility.”

Catherine frowned. “That is possible?”

“Difficult, but manageable,” Akua confirmed. “We Praesi have employed devils as spies before.”

 _Well of course you have_ , Catherine grumbled, though Juniper appeared thoughtful. “How many?”

“No more than thirty,” Akua conceded. “For such a small number, no mass blood donations would be required.”

Juniper seemed more willing to entertain that discussion, but then Heiress looked at Catherine. The Squire’s gaze clearly said ‘no’.

Akua appeared to hold back a sigh. “And it occurs to me that one of the major points of protest is the integration with our conventional forces,” Akua continued, her bright golden eyes fixed on Catherine. “But to support that much, I would be willing to finance a series of war games for our Legion. Considered them as an opportunity for our legionnaires to grow more accustomed to both each other and our sorcery.”

The room paused, gazes glancing to the Squire. _Huh_ , Catherine thought, _Akua is really desperate for this, isn’t she?_ Still…

“War games?” Catherine repeated, frowning.

“A fortnight long,” Akua agreed.

For a while now, Juniper had been pushing for the chance to undertake war games with the Fifteenth. Currently their new Legion was made out of too many Callowan and Praesi elements that had been rapidly assembled, untested. Juniper had (quite reasonably) wanted to test their troops out with a series of war games out in the Wastelands before actual deployment. Catherine had agreed with the sentiment, but there simply hadn't been enough in their budget to support such a thing. The Fifteenth had too limited funds to justify a two-week long exercise and delay.

But if Akua was willing to fund it from _her own pocket_ … Catherine had few qualms about exploiting Akua as a piggy-bank for the Fifteenth.

Catherine considered the deal before her. _Risks and benefits_ , she mused. The major risk was that she’d be allowing Akua to summon some thirty devils which would quite likely betray them at some point. Yet even so, thirty devils were a manageable number – those could be subdued with minimal casualties. Conversely, the benefit was that they’d be able to fund a series of war games as a dry run to resolve the problems in the Fifteenth prior to battle. But even more than that, if Akua wanted to summon those thirty devils, then she would have to surrender the associate bindings to Catherine’s supervision. The rules could be exploited to Catherine’s advantage.

 _And besides_ , Catherine thought, _if the Fifteenth is going to have to fight devils at some point, then it’d be best for our men to familiarise themselves with said devils beforehand_.

But why would Akua push so hard just to volunteer her diabolism? There had to be some benefit to Heiress that Catherine wasn’t seeing, some scheme in place…

Yet overall, the benefits appeared to work out in Catherine’s favour. Juniper would be very happy for the chance to test their new Legion prior to true battle.

“Let us be clear,” Catherine said eventually. “These devils will be under your direct oversight. We will hold _you_ responsible if they fall out of line, understand?”

_And we will be watching very closely for the chance._

“Agreed,” Akua nodded.

“Alright,” Catherine confirmed. “I will approve the lease for thirty devils to be used as scouts only – reporting and coordinating to the scouting division. On the condition that the type of devils and the bindings are verified by experts beforehand, of course.”

Akua nodded again. _Shit_ , Catherine realised a moment later, _I’ve got to find some experts_. Still, there had to be someone halfway trustworthy who knew anything about diabolism. _Or perhaps ‘halfway trustworthy’ and ‘knows diabolism’ makes an oxymoron_.

Catherine looked to Juniper, who nodded cautiously at the decision. She turned and motioned for Hakram to add something to the upcoming agenda. “Well then, it appears that we need to start putting a cost together for these upcoming games,” Catherine announced, “since the Heiress will be footing the bill.”

“As you will, Lady Squire,” Juniper nodded.

One thousand legionnaires, plus supplies and munitions? That would be one hell of a bill, even for the Heiress. Akua was paying a lot for a single unit of thirty devils. Akua tried to keep the grimace off her features, but she did not seem happy about the cost. There were cracks in her facade, and the sight of her quiet despondence put a smile on Catherine’s face.

“Say,” Catherine mused out loud. “Do legion war games _have_ to be held in the Wastelands? Could we not justify a two-week long excursion to the Green Stretch instead?”

 _Or perhaps we could set up every man in the Fifteenth up in a luxury inn for those two weeks_ , Catherine thought. _Surely there must be some holiday destinations in Praes – or is that another oxymoron?_

Akua looked almost pained. “Please do not,” the Heiress said tautly. “My funds happen to be extremely limited at the moment.”

Catherine glanced at her, and then snorted. “That would be more convincing if you weren’t wearing a silk dress worth more than a battalion,” Catherine retorted.

Akua put both hands on her hips and even managed to appear rather defensive. _Or as defensive as anyone can look in a dress like that, with hips like those_ , Catherine mused.

“I’ll have you know that this dress is proof of my bankruptcy,” Akua bristled. “I had to have this dress _washed_ the other day.”

Akua said the words as if it were a ghastly concept. The whole room paused for several seconds, but it begged the question…

“You don’t normally wash your clothes?”

“Of course not,” Akua replied, blinking as if surprised. “Usually I just buy new.”

There was a silence for a while. The Heiress just glanced between them. Hakram was the first one to snort in laughter, before hastily disguising it as a cough. Hune giggled, Juniper’s lips twitched, and not even Catherine could stop herself from chuckling and shaking her head.

When she later reflected on it, Catherine realised that was the first time Akua had ever made her laugh.

* * *

That evening – after a whole slew of meetings, reports and interviews – Catherine retired late to her quarters. Her quarters in the Fifteenth's encampment was a squat, square building reserved for the highest-ranking commander. Her chamber was a single large stone room – separate from any other – furnished sparsely with a four-poster bed and a desk. The ceiling was over fifteen foot high – constructed to properly accommodate ogres where few other buildings were.

Apparently, this room was also used to house the Marshals of the Legions of Dread when they visited Ater. Catherine had even found some belongings from previous occupants – there was an entire trunk filled with leftover books, regulations and archived military reports. She had rifled through it out of curiosity and had also come upon a frilly Proceran romance serial buried among them. She was deeply curious which of the three Marshals had left _that_ behind, though perhaps some mysteries were better off unanswered.

Outside, dusk fell over the encampment, though the air was still warm and stuffy. It looked to be a quiet night. As the evening wound down, Catherine found herself sitting at her desk and idly reading that Proceran romance book in the lamplight. She'd _never_ admit it to anyone who asked – but for a sappy love story between the First Prince and a lowly courtesan, the book was quite an engaging read.

Then, Catherine nearly jumped as she heard a sharp knock at her door. She quickly shoved the stashed her reading material away under a pile before standing up.

There was someone at the door. _My guards shouldn't have let anyone pass at this time of night_ , Catherine thought suspiciously. It could be that they were summoning her for an emergency, but that knock sounded too casual. Even so, the Squire was on guard – hand on her sword – as she opened the door.

Akua stood in the doorway. Catherine tensed somewhat, but the Heiress simply raised her hand.

“At ease,” Akua greeted softly. “Your guards let me pass. I come bearing gifts.”

Catherine frowned. Akua carried two bulky bundles under her arm, struggling slightly to lift them. Catherine made no move to help, but Akua entered her chamber regardless.

Akua dropped two heavy tomes down onto Catherine's bed. Both were large, foreboding books of old thick parchment, each as large as small shields. One of them was bound black, and the other appeared to be sheathed in some sort of ugly brown leather.

“ _This_ is ‘First Principles of Trismegistan Theory’ authored by the Warlock Satha Um,” Akua explained, much to Catherine’s bafflement, “And this is ‘Boundaries of Sorcery’, by Sarika Nok. Together, they should be enough to give you an adequate introduction to the basics of magical principles. Once you finish these two, I can then provide a copy of ‘The Most Noble Art of Magic’ by Dread Emperor Sorcerous.”

Catherine stopped and stared at the two books. Easily several hundred large pages of the most painful reading material imaginable.

“Oh, I _see_ ,” Catherine said after a long pause. “We’re using the term ‘gifts’ ironically. Is this some form of torture?”

Akua merely rolled her eyes, and folded her arms over her chest. “If you are going to command mages, then you should learn the principles of magic,” Akua chided.

Catherine only scoffed. “I command sappers but I can’t build a trebuchet.”

“Learn how to fight against mages, then,” Akua said in a challenging voice. “Is it not one of Black’s lessons to understand the limits of your opponent? These books will be able to provide a grounding on what is and is not possible through sorcery.”

Catherine's frown deepened. If this was some sort of jape then she couldn’t see the humour in it. _What is her game here?_

Both of those books were clearly first editions, and both authored by very reputable sounding names. Catherine knew that even simple books concerning magic were extortionately expensive, but the books like _these_ must be worth small fortunes. And yet Akua was apparently giving them away? To her?

Catherine’s first instinct was that the books must be trapped or cursed somehow, but that didn’t make much sense. Catherine would soon be able to find out if there were magical traps on them, and it wouldn’t be worth the risk from Akua’s perspective. _So then why…?_

“Why would you?” Catherine asked, with a confused frown.

“For entirely selfish reasons,” Akua replied coolly, a smirk playing on her lips. “It occurs to me that perhaps if you were better informed of the fundamentals of magic, then perhaps you’d stop being so suspicious whenever I suggest anything. Ignorance breeds paranoia, after all.”

Catherine grunted, and then shook her head. “I think I’ll pass.”

Akua tutted. “What a foolish stance to take.”

“Sorry, but I have no interest in witchcraft, baby sacrifices, dancing naked under full moons or whatever the Hells it is that you do,” Catherine retorted.

“It’s _sorcery_ , not witchcraft,” Akua corrected. “I have never yet sacrificed a baby, and the naked dancing is done for entirely different reasons.”

Catherine opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again as that mental image hit her. Akua’s smirk twitched. _Gods Below_ , Catherine thought in quiet dismay, _she does that on purpose to catch me out_. As if Catherine needed any more proof that Akua was truly evil.

Akua took a half step closer, her arms still folded. “Squire, you have the Aspect Learn,” Akua chastised. “You could use it to memorise a library. Do you have any idea how valuable such an Aspect is?”

Catherine tensed. “How do you know what Aspect I have?”

She merely flicked her wrist in a dismissive gesture. “Learn is a hallmark for Squires, and I’ve done my research,” Akua replied. “Did you know that the Ranger has the same Aspect as you do?”

No – Catherine had not been aware of that, actually. Black had been somewhat vague concerning any specific details about Aspects. Catherine tilted her head and frowned quizzically.

Akua was looking at her with a strangely serious expression. “Just consider this: Squire is a transitional Name,” Akua explained. “And when you do transition, you will likely lose Learn as an Aspect, but you will still retain anything that you’ve already learned. Hence you should make the most of it now – tackle the most difficult subjects _now_ , while you still have that Aspect to aid you.”

“The last I checked, I can’t become the Black Knight while that position is filled,” Catherine noted, though that feeling of quiet confusion only grew larger.

“Not necessarily true,” Akua said with a shake of her head. “You are certainly _favoured_ to succeed as the next Black Knight, but that’s only so long as you choose to follow in your mentor’s footsteps. Squires can develop to be more than just Black Knights.”

Catherine raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You think I could become the White Knight instead?”

“Black and White Knight are the simply the two most well-known Names,” the Heiress clarified. “But even in Praes, there have been other variations of knightly Names; such as Grey Knight, Blood Knight, or perhaps that of Dark Paladin. It was even rumoured that Triumphant – may she never return – once had a _Hell Knight_ under her command.”

Catherine scoffed. “I’m no Praesi.”

Akua’s gaze flickered with some expression Catherine couldn’t quite interpret. Frustration, perhaps?

“The point that I’m making is that you _could_ transition into a new Name much sooner,” Akua said in a strained voice. “You are not limited by your mentor unless you choose to be. If you do not like the path set out before you, then make your own.”

Her expression was serious. _Was that actually encouragement?_ Their eyes locked for one moment, Catherine's brown against Akua's golden. Catherine’s lips pursed but she did not reply. She wasn’t quite sure how.

Akua turned away first and motioned back to the two books, her _gifts_.

“And hence this is exactly the right time for you to commit to learning the principles of magic,” Akua said in a advising tone. “These _are_ very useful books, and with your Aspect you should be able to absorb them in record time.”

Catherine was still frowning with befuddlement. Akua shook her head, but already she was turning to leave. “If you need assistance, then I’m willing to help.”

“ _You're_ going to tutor me?” Catherine scoffed.

Catherine asked the question sarcastically, but there was no trace of a jape in Akua’s reply.

“I am,” Akua simply said. “Good night, Catherine.”

With that, Akua left the room, closing the door behind her as she walked away. Catherine blinked.

_What on earth just…?_

Two heavy books of magic lay on her bed. Catherine inspected the covers dubiously, though she didn't open them. One of Black’s lessons had been how to detect the sensation of sorcery using her Name, yet even when Catherine concentrated she felt nothing. There was no magic, no hidden snares. They were just ordinary leather, ink and parchment – and filled with arcane knowledge.

Books like this – from the library of Wolof, no less – would surely be worth a great sum. Yet Akua had given them away apparently because she wanted Catherine to learn? _But_ I _don't even want me to learn_ , Catherine thought, aghast. So why would _she_ care?

There had been previous acts of kindness, but Catherine had dismissed them as Akua’s attempts to curry favour – yet this one felt different. There was absolutely no reason for Akua to offer up these books because it wasn’t something Catherine even appreciated. In fact, Catherine felt rather irritated with having such unwelcome reading materials dropped upon her. If Akua was trying to simply earn her trust, then there would have been objects of lesser worth which Catherine would have appreciated more.

Catherine really didn’t _want_ to learn the theory of magic – she had already seen enough of it to turn her off the subject forever. She had seen equations and formulas that looked downright painful to understand. Black’s lessons had covered sorcery in only the broadest of strokes, but Catherine’s impression was that studying magical principles in depth was a hobby only for the masochistic.

And yet – if she was honest – there probably _would_ be a long-term benefit from doing so. What Akua had said did make sense. It had the feeling of genuinely good advice, freely given.

_But what the fuck does Akua Sahelian gain from it?_

Catherine had to sit down and cradle her head. She remembered those strange words Akua had said over a month ago now, although Catherine had thought back to them often. _There are things which I’m not telling you_ , Akua had told her. _That’s not because I don’t want to, but – for reasons I’m unable to explain – I just can’t share them with you right now._

At the time Catherine had tried to dismiss it as a weak sort of excuse to justify her concealing information, and yet…

She sighed, and collapsed backwards on the bed. Catherine honestly could not place Akua’s intentions, but they grew all the more confusing with each passing day.


	13. Restriction

_“Number thirty-seven: There’s no reason to be cautious of an enemy who has been tied up in rope and suspended over an intricate deathtrap. Clearly there’s absolutely no chance they’ll ever be able to escape. Maybe go make yourself a drink or something while you await their inevitable demise.”_

**\- Extract of the lesser-known “Two Hundred Villainous Axioms”. According to rumour, the book was authored by Dread Emperor Irritant, and then distributed among other villains to give them purposefully bad advice.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Restriction**

I sat holding the Orb of Raetje in my hands. It was a small crystal orb, pulsating softly with amber light from its core. I could feel the magic radiating from within it – it was like a low hum. There were centuries old enchantments bound into its core; each one was individually weak but the array of them became complex. The Orb of Raetje was a legacy of Wolof, but it was mine – it belonged to _me_.

I inhaled, focusing my power.

“ **Own** ,” I breathed.

My Aspect exerted itself. My will pressed on to the orb like a spectral hand clenching downwards. I felt the knot of enchantments within – I gripped them and I pulled with all my might. It was rather like tearing a tangle of wires apart. The orb flashed green, and then –

The strain hit me. A growl broke from my lips as the magic slipped out of my grasp. I tried to tighten my grip, but it was too late. The enchantments resisted my efforts, and then the orb reverted back to a dim amber colour.

“ _Dammit_ ,” I cursed.

I couldn’t do it. _This is a problem_ , I thought with a grimace.

The Orb of Raetje itself was not important – the orb didn’t have any purpose except as a training exercise. It was essentially a magical puzzle box. It was something my ancestors had once devised: the orb contained a web of different enchantments and wards wrapped around themselves. It required a skilled practitioner to analyse each strain of magic piece by piece, untangling the puzzle until it glowed blue.

Yet in the past, I hadn’t needed to analyse it. I had once been capable of instantly solving the puzzle through my Aspect alone; by taking ownership of the magic and forcing it to rearrange at my command.

But now it wasn’t working anymore, and the reason why was obvious: my Aspect **Own** was simply not powerful enough. I had lost strength. I could feel the power slipping away from me – it felt like the grip of a knife that had gradually transformed to jelly, such that I was unable to clench it properly.

The conclusion was unavoidable. _I am losing power in my Name_.

It had started ever since the war games, in truth, but over the recent weeks and months I had begun to feel the loss more keenly. It had been a very gradual weakening, a cumulative effect. I had simply made too many actions which went against my very Role. I had been disinherited from Wolof, I sacrificed my political standing, I lost too much of my influence, and I had made too many concessions which went against my nature. I had bowed my head too many names.

In many ways, I had betrayed my ancestors when I changed sides to support Catherine. _And now my Name is being a prissy bitch and stripping away my power_.

My Aspects were all in a weakened state, I was losing my Name-enhanced magic. There had been other signs too; I had experienced Name-dreams for the first time in years. In my sleep, I frequently saw visions from the perspective of the previous Heir – usually replaying the moment that he had been slain by the Black Knight. It was a very unsubtle warning.

 _Names take power from their Roles_ , I considered. _To go against our Roles means we lose power._

 _It wasn’t a severe loss_ , I reasoned. I felt certain that it wasn’t at risk of losing my Name altogether – though I had definitely lost a good chunk of my former power. 

I let the orb drop from my hands as I sighed. I couldn’t even solve the Orb of Raetje anymore. It was just so _frustrating_ – and the exact opposite of what I needed right now.

“What is the matter, mpanzi?” my father’s voice called suddenly, as he stepped into the hallway. His presence broke me from my reverie, and I glanced upwards.

I simply smiled, as I didn’t want to share my woes with him. “Nothing, papa,” I lied. “Just practicing.”

“Ah, the Orb of Raetje,” he chuckled, motioning at the crystal ball lying on the floor. “I was looking for that – the students are going to love it.”

The students wouldn’t even be able to understand it. It took most practitioners several weeks of effort to solve the Orb of Raetje – even past Warlocks had been defeated by the challenge. I picked up the orb and then helped papa sort through a pile of papers littered over the library floor. Dumisai seemed quite hassled as he paced the wide room.

“How are the preparations going?” I asked. 

“It’s all very rough,” he admitted, but with a grin. “The wards are still a little bare, but we should have something workable soon.”

To papa, ‘rough’ was a large marble mansion in the heart of Ater – a lavish property that had once belonged to some rich aristocrat before he had drawn the ire of Black. The walls were expensive stone and the arched ceilings stood twenty foot high – decorated in mosaics praising the glory of the Dread Empire. In the last few months, my father had secured the entire building with some of the most sophisticated magical protections possible – although Black had still assigned an entire division of elite Blackguards to defend the property against all forms of assault. Goblin sappers had established a moat and wall around the building, readying it as if for a siege. It was a luxury mansion, but Black had ensured it was fortified too.

After so much preparation, the Unchained Academy of Arcane Arts was nearly ready. The first crop of students were to arrive this week.

There were stipulations in place, of course. Black had allowed Dumisai to have his personal mage tower only with restrictions. For starters, papa had a restricting seal placed on his chest, and he had signed a blood contract compelling him to years of service. The Tower officiants were watching everything. The price of trust was that my father was effectively under house arrest – Dumisai would be unable to leave these premises for a duration of five years.

For any other man that would have been an imposition, but I doubted if papa cared at all. Dumisai rarely had any desire to leave his workshop or library regardless, though he would still have students and assistants for company. We were allowed to communicate via scrying. Black was still keeping a close eye on us, of course – there was no trust shared – but the conditions that Black had set were no harsher than what Dumisai was used to at Wolof.

Contractually, Dumasai would be trapped within this building for those five years, but his safety would be guaranteed so long as he worked as per the agreed restrictions. Dumisai was obliged to teach whatever students Black sent his way, as well as work on whatever arcane problems were required of him. Black had even wrangled Warlock to verify the work he did, much to Dumisai’s delight. Last week, my father had spent three hours in an intense argument with the Warlock via scrying regarding the principles of Dharihian Binding Principles – yet apparently he had quite enjoyed the debate.

Papa did seem rather excited with this change in his location and role. He had been preparing his lessons months in advance, talking eagerly about all the different subjects and challenges he could pose to his students. There was a spring in his step, even.

I was happy for him, I really was. Although – not for the first time – I reflected on how fundamentally different we were from each other.

I wouldn’t be able to stay with papa, of course. I would have to go when the Fifteenth deployed in several week’s time. Still, I had done all I could to secure his safety.

We ate dinner in the dining room together, much to his quiet joy. Our time in Ater together had been the first time in years that we had been allowed to share so long in each other’s company, and I intended to make the most of it.

“I have something for you,” Dumisai said later that day, as he pulled out a large black-bound book from a secure shelf. The book was so heavy that it took both hands to lift, and I could feel the magic radiating from it. 

I raised my eyebrow as I recognised the surrounding aura. It felt like sulphur and brimstone. “You have translated those binding contracts?” I guessed.

“I have,” he confirmed. “And I have assembled as many bound devils as I could, all with renewed restrictions in place.”

Yes, the book was practically soaked in wards. We had stolen – ahem, _liberated_ many archived devil-bindings from Wolof’s repository, and yet my father collated several dozen into a single book. The glowing seal on the front cover meant that no one but him or I could open the book.

I pulled open the book cautiously, and on each page I saw a sketch of an unearthly creature overlaid with a seal. As beings not of Creation, devils could be stored in arcane dimensions and bound to objects. A grimoire of diabolism literally contained devils locked inside its pages.

“How many?”

“Fifty-eight named entities,” he offered with a gentle smile. “As a going away present.”

I had to laugh. Truly, my father always gave the best gifts.

Fifty-eight was a sizable number. Dread Empress Triumphant – may she never return – had been capable of binding a few hundred devils and a demon into a single banner. Even for a man of Dumisai’s skill, squeezing fifty-eight devils into a single book was a considerable feat.

There were others at my disposal; I had another seventy or so devils bound to phylacteries that I had prepared myself. If I also included the very weak devils – the imps – that had bound together in mass contracts, then likely there were upwards of two hundred beings available to me. For larger numbers it was generally more efficient to open Lesser Hellgates to summon devils in mass, but through binding you could achieve tighter control over stronger singular devils.

If needed, I could always gather more of them. It took time to bind devils into contracts and then summon them into Creation, yet the depths of Hells were always full.

I glanced through the grimoire and made note of each one my father had provided. The devils came in all shapes and sizes, from hook-headed monsters to small winged dwarves. Towards the later pages of the books, the figures grew rather more monstrous. One of them was a large, eyeless giant with scaled ebony skin – and that made me pause.

”Jenge Kubawa,” I realised, pausing over that page. “You translated _his_ contract?”

Papa nodded gently. “That one was difficult,” he admitted, “but yes, he is secure.”

Jenge Kubawa was the Lord of Despair from the Twenty-Seventh Hell. He was a Greater Devil that had first been spawned before the Miezan occupation, that had once single-handedly fought off an army of Aksum. In the original timeline, I myself had summoned Jenge Kubawa to fight against the Court of Summer, and he had managed to hold up fairly well even when matched against the Princess of High Noon.

But in the final pages of the grimoire there were several names of note. I saw Mongowa-umum, Naksnhe Shu, the Elder Kosh – all of them were ancient and powerful devils. I did not expect to see them again, but my father had done a fantastic job smuggling the bindings out from Wolof. It caused a genuine smile to crease my lips.

“Just be careful with those,” Dumisai warned in a sober tone. “Greater Devil of those ilk will not come cheaply.”

“Their contracts _are_ airtight,” I remarked. “They have held up for centuries.”

“They are.” He nodded. “But Lords of Hell will still expect blood sacrifices as payment. Without providing suitable offerings, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to control them in Creation.”

His voice was thick with worry. And it was a fair point – bound or not, devils always extracted a price for their service. My ancestors had first forged those agreements with the elite Lords of Hell _only_ by offering up souls. Weaker imps could be dominated by might alone, but the most formidable of devils could be trusted only so long as they were fed.

Yet I could not give the payments they would expect, I knew. The last time I had summoned such Greater Devils, the matter of payment hadn’t been an issue: at the time I had tens of thousands of souls in Liesse that I had happily sacrificed to them. But this time it was different, there were different restrictions hanging over my head.

It had taken a rather large amount of arm-wrangling to convince Black to relax the regulations regarding devil-binding, but I had persuaded him that it was the sensible choice. Diabolism _was_ a specialty of Wolof, and there was little point having a teacher like Dumisai – and all of those precious scrolls I had donated – if his students could later be banned for applying what they learnt. Instead, it had been decided that all devil-binding would be permitted only with oversight and approval, which meant that the art of diabolism was now very much tied up in the quagmire of Imperial bureaucracy.

Those limitations were irritating, though not unexpected. There was still some workable scope in what had been agreed, although any mass human sacrifices to secure Greater Devils were firmly out of the question.

“The terms can be bent but not broken,” I said after a long pause. “Greater or not, devils are bound by their nature.”

“Their nature is to consume and grow,” Dumisai argued. “ _Are_ you able to offer such payment?”

“I cannot,” I admitted, with reluctance. Mass sacrifices would be too problematic, and I wasn’t sure if I was capable of them anymore.

He sighed. For all he was a kind-hearted man, my papa was no stranger to the occasional blood sacrifice. My father deliberately did not ask _why_ I had become so reluctant to use such practices, though I knew he was curious about why my attitude had changed. Still he trusted me enough to let me keep my secrets, and for that I loved him.

“Then you may be able to summon _one_ of those, but it will fight you every step of the way,” Dumisai said in quiet warning. “Do not attempt to summon any more than one, and never lose concentration over it. If you cannot feed it, it will attempt to turn against you.”

Yes, it was a frustrating dilemma. I did have _hundreds_ of bound devils, but yet I wouldn’t be able to use them properly if I couldn’t pay the price. It was a fundamental truth of devil-binding; you had to pay for what you got. 

At a certain point, mere donations of blood wouldn’t be enough – a large horde would surely require souls, and in large quantities. I could not see a means of paying without breaking the rules I had set myself.

 _This is why morality and diabolism doesn’t mix_ , I thought with a grimace. _This is why my Name is weakening_. I could not commit to the means like I once could, and the Gods Below despised indecisiveness.

“It makes no difference,” I said with a sigh. “The Squire has forbade the use of Greater Devils in their entirety. I will not be able to use them.”

That said, I would keep a hold of these contracts regardless – because a Lord of Hell was a useful thing to keep in a back pocket.

Dumisai paused. “You have a solution in mind,” he remarked.

“I do,” I agreed, smiling. “I am permitted to summon _only_ Lesser Devils. However, it occurs to me that the rules are rather vague on what constitutes a Lesser Devil.”

Generally, the only difference between a Lesser and a Greater Devil was its age. Devils would grow smarter and more powerful over time. Devils actually ‘enjoyed’ being summoned to Creation, because here they could learn faster and evolve in a way they couldn’t do so in Hells. In Hells they were static, but in Creation they could grow.

“Devils _are_ deterministic creatures,” I continued meaningfully. “So if I were to spawn a weak one, keep in Creation for a prolonged period, gradually feed it power, and then shape its awareness with my own…”

“You could theoretically empower a Lesser Devil such that its strength is equivalent to something greater, but without actually summoning a Greater Devil directly.” Papa scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You mean to _ascend_ a devil?”

Catherine had allowed me only thirty devils, but I could exploit that. Thirty Lesser Devils wasn’t much of anything, but thirty Greater Devils was far more significant. It was my hope that by shaping these devils from a proto-stage I could ensure that they were each much more controllable. It would be rather like summoning a kitten but then transforming it into a tiger.

So far as I knew, no one else had ever attempted such a thing – but in most circumstances it would be an impractical task. Usually it was far easier to simply sacrifice a dozen people on an altar and summon a Lord of Hell directly, rather than trying to create one piecemeal.

“But to do so you will need to strip a devil down to its essence and then build it up again,” Dumasai said musingly. “You are not merely ‘growing’ it, you are essentially creating your own breed of infernal being.”

“I will form an amalgamation,” I confirmed. “A construct that is diabolic at its core, but formed of sorcery and bound to Creation.”

“It is a creative solution,” he conceded, “but untested.”

“It will be a challenge,” I replied with a smile.

 _And Names thrive off challenges_. I had placed restrictions on myself, yet it was my hope that those restrictions would allow me to grow. To be Named was to overcome adversity and to achieve ambition. If I could not fit my current Role, then I would have to forge my own.

But importantly, I had the advantage of all the knowledge I had gained in the future. I had been privy to the Arsenal and all its secrets – I had studied the workings of wonders alongside Hierophant himself. I had been a part of Night and its goddesses, I had studied the powers of the Dead King and his revenants. I had harnessed the gestalt – the mass of souls from the Deoraithe. I had dissected the power from angels and I had opened a Greater Hellgate of my own.

Not to mention all that I had gleaned from the other Named under the Truce and Terms. The Summoner had been an aggravating man, but his techniques he had used to create sorcerous constructs had been flexible and novel. The Rapacious Troubadour had been a practitioner of middling talent, yet he had achieved a means of harnessing souls unlike any other. I had even learned from the Grey Pilgrim and Blessed Artificer, as I watched how they manipulated Light like no other. I had studied both heroes and villains in a way that no one else could claim.

And now, I had the opportunity to put that knowledge to use, to create something _new_. The devils would be my clay.

Across the table, my father paused, inspecting me with keen eyes behind his glasses. For all he was uninterested in power or politics, he could be quite perceptive.

“And through shaping of these devils,” my father observed, “you intend to shape your own Name too?”

I nodded. “Sooner or later,” I softly said, “a Heiress must inherit her right.”

The fact that I would transition was certain – it was as surely as a Squire must become a Knight. My Role had changed, but I was still Named to my bones. However, I did not know what I would become next.

 _I might not be able to become Diabolist again_ , I admitted silently. Diabolist was a buried Name reflective of ancient Praes in all its unholy glory, and I wasn’t sure whether I would fit into that groove anymore. In the previous timeline, it had required me to release a demon at Marchford and then a horde of devils at Liesse to become the Diabolist. Without those acts, it would be hard to accumulate the same weight that the Name required.

I could do it all over again – but I couldn’t see any means of doing so without mass sacrifice and alienating Catherine altogether. _Fucking morals_.

But even so, there were other Names that were available, and Heiress was a flexible starting point. I had once studied Namelore at great length – in fact, I studied it so much that my first Aspect had formed.

Magic held an important cultural weight in Praes, and hence the Dread Empire had developed many Names for mages. The most prominent of those was the Warlock, of course, but that slot was already filled and would be too troublesome to usurp. Alternatively, the Necromancer was also an old and respected Praesi Name, though one I would prefer to avoid. 

From there, there were many different variants of Sorcerer or Sorceress that had been fairly common in Praes for a long while. Although, perhaps a more suitable variation for me would be the Blood Mage. I knew of the Names Cursebinder and Doombringer. There had also been the Witch of the Sands – a Name which had only appeared once before in Praesi history, though its holder had been very powerful in her era.

I could – arguably – fit the groove for any of them. No person could control the Roles dictated by Fate, but there were ways of aligning yourself towards a certain goal.

Even so, it would be disappointing to accept a lesser Name. In my heart of hearts, I did still want to become the Diabolist again. I still wanted to push towards greatness.

 _But I will have to transition_ , I considered, _and the sooner I do so the better_. It could be my only means of regaining the power I had lost as Heiress.

* * *

In the Fifteenth’s encampment, there was a stone and wood shed near the back of the yards – it had once been used as a storehouse before it had been abandoned. The Legion encampment was meant to house much larger armies than the Fifteenth, and there were plenty of stone buildings available even in the sea of cloth tents. I had been assigned a single building for my ‘special auxiliary forces’, although everyone else had soon labelled it the Wretched Hut.

The reason why was obvious: the centre of the shed was dominated by a large ritual circle drawn in lamb’s blood, while thirty devils clung to the rafters above.

The devils were grey or brown skinned; they appeared rather similar to apes, except they bore scales instead of fur, and had large leathery wings protruding from their backs. Each one was the size of dogs, though with their lanky limbs outstretched they could appear larger. Their claws were long and hooked, while their eyes reflected bright green as if glowing.

I had deliberately chosen a rarer breed of devils – _glarka-ja_ , from the Eighty-Ninth Hell. Flying monkeys, to some. Glarka-ja were a type of devil most notable for their intelligence – they could mimic and repeat human speech quite well. Thanks to the glamours that I had placed into their scales, they could also become invisible for short durations – for one hour each day – although that invisibility wasn’t perfect. When they activated the invisibility glamour, their outlines would become translucent but their green eyes continued to shine; making them appear as flying disembodied eyes. I had found no means of making their eyes invisible too without also rendering them blind.

The invisibility glamour was a modified version of the one that Dread Empress Malevolent II had once used on her infamous invisible legion, in one of the many failed attempts to invade Callow. Like most concepts used to invade Callow, it had its flaws.

I stood in the ritual circle, with Barika by my side as we inspected our two dozen devils. The shapes hung above us, completely still. If not for the occasional twitch, I might have thought them dead.

A week ago, these devils had been howling and clawing at the boundary of the circle – flapping madly through the air and chanting whatever words they overheard in an unholy clamour. The racket had been quite unpopular with the Fifteenth. Now, though, the creatures were hanging still, their bodies draped over the rafters. They had become lethargic days ago.

“They are weakening,” Barika remarked, with some concern. “Ever since the games, they’ve been like _this_.”

“They are withering,” I agreed. “They have been in Creation too long, and now they are starving.” I paused. “No – perhaps _eroding_ is a better word.”

Devils did not need to eat nor breathe. They required little sustenance, but they were foreign to Creation and thus they could literally be eroded by it. Greater Devils were strong enough to hold their place, but weaker devils would be gradually scraped away by this reality. Creation itself rejected them.

There was a reason why a horde of devils was usually a temporary boon employed by desperate villains. Devils required upkeep, and most infernal beings had little staying power outside of their native Hells.

Idly, I reached up and prodded one of the flying monkeys. It did not react.

“Would it not be easier to simply release these and summon more?” Barika asked uncertainly.

“It would be.” I nodded. “But they are meant to be more than mere troops – _these_ are to be our first test subjects.”

I had appointed Barika to oversee this experiment. Fadila would have been better suited for the task – but she was too busy in her position as senior mage and I trusted Barika more. I had performed the summoning myself, but it fell down to Barika to fulfil the more everyday tasks of managing the devils.

“From now onwards,” I said as I paced the room, “each devil is to receive a daily feed of lamb’s blood and treated-electrum dust, which help to strengthen them. Every week, we will perform the Dumisan Transfusion Ritual to refresh their bonds to Creation.”

“Dumisan Transfusion Ritual?” Barika frowned. “I am not familiar with any such ritual.”

“You wouldn’t be,” I replied smoothly. “I only invented it the other week.”

She blinked, but nodded obediently as I described the process. There was much to do, and in many ways this was highly experimental. If I was the architect of the plan, then it fell to Barika to be the appointed devil handler.

“The continual rituals will begin to empower them.” I explained. “When we expose them to high concentrations of raw magic, they _will_ mutate. That will be the critical stage, but for now they must acclimatise to Creation itself.”

“And what is my task?”

“That of behaviour reinforcement,” I said. “The devils will copy those they see, they will absorb quickly. They do learn, in their own way. They imprint on those around them – much like puppies, I suppose.”

In truth, devils could not ‘learn’ as most people understood the term, but they could adapt. In many ways, devils were very simple creatures; they had no free will of their own. Instead, they merely followed a set of embedded instructions – though those instructions could expand over time and grow complex. At some point, a devil could approximate intelligence so well that it began nearly indistinguishable from the real thing.

“I want you to run through a routine of tasks with them,” I continued. “Every day, you will command them to follow some set of simple instructions – force them to complete a series of progressively complex tasks. The binding ensures that they must obey you, even in this state.”

I motioned around me, to the barnful of catatonic devils. Barika frowned.

“You want me to _teach_ them?” she queried, and I nodded. “What sort of tasks?”

“Observe,” I said, and then I turned to point at one of the motionless creatures. “Akthese,” I commanded. come here.”

The saggy grey devil did not respond. I paused for half a moment, and then frowned. _How strange – why does it not obey?_

Standing beside me, Barika’s gaze flickered. “Nauk’s Girlfriend,” she called, sounding reluctant, “come here.”

At those words, that flying monkey twitched and crawled into motion. Its movements were strained and sluggish, but it heeded the instruction.

I stopped dead on the spot. Barika was trying hard to avoid eye contact with me, and instead she stared sheepishly down at the floor.

“Why is Akthese responding to the name _‘Nauk’s Girlfriend’_?” I asked in a very frosty tone.

Barika appeared nervous to reply.

“It happened during the war games,” Barika admitted. “When they were acting as scouts, you commanded that they must obey the orders given by the officers. And then there was this one goblin – _Robber_ …”

The war games. The _games I had funded_. I had deliberately summoned these devils immediately prior to those games held on the Wasteland, so that they would be at their most energetic for its duration. I had been involved, of course, but I had split the command of the thirty devils among the various units of the Fifteenth…

I blinked as the realisation hit me. “Wait,” I said in slow horror. “You allowed _Robber_ to rename them?” 

“I only found out afterwards,” Barika confessed. “Apparently the goblins thought the names you picked were too difficult to remember. So they came up with their own.”

 _Oh Gods Below – and he renamed it_ Nauk’s Girlfriend _?_

Even simple names were special for devils. Devils could grow much more powerful if they were given an identity – names acted to mould them. That was why I had made a point of christening each one as I summoned them. I had called each of my thirty devils after an ancient Soninke prince.

Yet that was the thing about names; it didn’t really matter what _I_ called them, it was what everyone else called them which defined them. For two weeks during the war games these devils had been assigned as scouts to the divisions, and during that time they would have adopted the names they’d been given…

I closed my eyes. Barika hadn’t informed me of this. Likely she had been too scared to.

“What other names were assigned?”

She twitched. “I believe that one is now called ‘Imping Around’,” Barika admitted sheepishly, pointing in turn around the shapes above us. “That one is ‘Hellhound's Little Baby’. That is ‘Eggs Devilish’… and that one is…”

Her voice trailed off. She was pointing towards an ugly brown devil with a cleft lip that revealed fangs. Barika seemed especially nervous to say the words.

“ _What is its name?_ ” I demanded of her.

“Akua’s Underwear,” she mumbled.

At those words, the devil turned its head and bared its teeth.

“ _Robber_ ,” I snarled.

“No,” Barika admitted. “The Squire named that last one herself.”

Much like new-born puppies, when a devil imprinted onto a name there was no good method of weaning that name out of them. Devils could not _unlearn_ anything. Which meant that I was now _stuck with_ …

I forced myself not to react immediately. All of the decorum I had learnt as a child was used to keep my expression blank. Perhaps I was imagining it, but even Akua’s Underwear itself bore a guilty expression.

_Behold, the first of my super devils – as named by a malicious little goblin. And also by Captain Robber._

Barika was trying very hard to avoid looking at me. In simpler times, I would have just killed a subordinate who allowed something like this to happen. Instead, I rubbed my eyes.

“Barika, you are dismissed,” I said with a sigh of resignation.

* * *

I sat in my tent next to the Wretched Hut, reading through scrolls of old diabolism. I was investigating whether there was any method of wiping a devil’s memory, though only half-heartedly. Barika had wisely avoided me ever since that revelation regarding the devil’s names, but days later and things had fallen into routine.

Even at half-strength, Fifteenth was very almost battle ready. Those war games had been quite successful and apparently Juniper had been pleased by her Legion’s performance. The Fifteenth was rapidly preparing for deployment, and its ranks were being drilled and streamlined. Juniper had done a good job at ironing out all the flaws revealed in the war games.

 _I will have my own personal troop of devils ready by then_ , I promised myself. _Awful names or not_.

Yet outside of the Wretched Hut, I heard the sound of raised voices. There was an argument happening outside, and it was a familiar noise. I did not step out to intervene, but I quietly called upon Name to sharpen my hearing so I could eavesdrop.

Outside, Barika was arguing with Adjutant Hakram again. Likely there was another resource conflict between the devil unit and the conventional forces.

“As per the agreement, the devils need drilling exercises,” I heard Barika insisting. “They should have one quarter bell each day, without interference –”

“No special treatment,” Hakram’s low voice gravelled. “The rules are quite clear – we are not rearranging the sappers drills just so you can run your little imps around.”

“The devils require exercise and upkeep.”

“They require too much already.” The orc snorted. “You are pushing it beyond what was agreed, and you have the very lowest priority.”

The tone of his voice clearly put Barika on edge. Her voice raised in pitch, sharp and haughty. “They are an auxiliary force, entitled to the same consideration specified in the specialist charter,” she argued with frustration. “And are you deliberately resurrecting this argument just to withhold resources from us.”

“They are not an auxiliary force,” Hakram replied harshly, “they are _pets_. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you run them around outside without a leash.”

Inside the tent, I withheld a sigh. Barika’s voice sounded furious – I could imagine her stomping her feet. And not unreasonably, I admitted; Hakram had been trying to hobble my personal devil unit from its inception. Doubtlessly Hakram was acting as per Catherine’s instructions, but it was Barika who had suffered through the brunt of the bureaucratic wrangling.

“Then be damned,” Barika snapped, her voice rising in pitch, “and it is not they who deserve a leash. This has all been agreed already, and you will not change the terms.”

Hakram grunted and growled a crude series of words in Kharsum. I stopped and turned from my desk. “The answer is _no_. Leave it.”

Outside, Barika bristled. “You do not make demands of me, you _green-fraba_.”

 _Fuck_. I was already on my feet and moving. I exited out onto the yards, coming upon the scene just as it was about to turn badly.

Both Barika and Hakram were facing off against each other in the middle of the tents, with a gaggle of onlookers strewn around. There were plenty of Taghreb and Soninke from the mages divisions present, as well as orcs and goblins mixed between them. That word Barika had spat caused a good deal of mumbling from the greenskins.

Hakram loomed over her, his fangs bared and face twisted in anger. His hand twitched towards the axe at his waist, and I saw a flicker of sparks flash from Barika’s eyes. It could have turned to violence right then, but then a thunderous voice boomed.

“ **That’s enough!”** Catherine bellowed, as the weight of her Name slammed down over everyone. I felt myself shudder – even in her very early days, Catherine always had a talent for Speaking.

The Squire must have also been listening in. A scene had already formed in the yards; with Barika and Hakram standing in the centre while Catherine and I emerged from opposite directions. I walked briskly while Catherine was stormed with a fury. Her presence caused even hardened legionnaires to wince.

“Sergeant Barika!” Catherine growled furiously. “You do _not_ speak to my officer like that!”

I stepped inwards, my eyes locking against Catherine’s.

“I do speak Kharsum, Squire,” I spoke, speaking in Kharsum. My accent was admittedly poor, yet I was fluent. “Barika should not have said such, but do not pretend that Hakram didn’t give the first insult.”

Both Catherine and Hakram hesitated, while Barika clearly didn’t understand. Like most Soninke highborn, she had never learnt the orc’s language.

 _Green-fraba,_ Barika had called Hakram. _‘Fraba’_ was a bastardised Miezen word – it basically meant livestock. It was a dumb and racially-charged insult to throw against any orc, although one that was used unfortunately often by Soninke oldbloods. And yet even so, the insult that Hakram had growled beforehand in Kharsum had been worse – even if Barika hadn’t understood the language.

“I will not excuse her,” I said gravely, switching back to Lower Miezan, “but _both_ were in the wrong.”

Squire looked towards Hakram with a chastising glare, and the orc’s fangs clenched. Catherine paused for only a heartbeat. I wondered briefly whether Catherine might choose to punish Barika but ignore Hakram, but to her credit she did no such thing.

She nodded. “Both of you,” Catherine said firmly, looking between the pair as if they were unruly children. “You are both assigned to grunt tasks for the next week. You’ll be up at dawn polishing helms – and if either of you _ever_ pick thispick this fight again I’ll have you in the stocks.”

Neither replied nor met the other’s gaze, yet they didn’t dare object. Barika’s face twisted as if she were forced to swallow a fly, but I would offer Barika no protection on this matter.

The crowd scurried away under Catherine’s withering gaze. Hakram turned back towards Catherine’s side, while Barika returned to mine. Barika looked to me pleadingly, yet I had no sympathy in my expression.

“I told you not to provoke him,” I hissed to Barika.

She flustered. “I’m sorry, my lady, but that orc is provoking _me_.”

I could have cursed. _That orc is a claimant to a Name_. Hakram had become Catherine’s right hand, and already I had noticed signs of his Name starting to form. I hadn’t mentioned it, but the indicators were present. I did not want Barika to start any such feud with Hakram, and yet it seemed as if the two were constantly butting heads. It could not be allowed to continue.

I gripped Barika’s shoulder tightly, calling upon my Name to make my voice more forceful.

“You will _not,_ ” I growled, as my nails sunk deep into her skin. I reinforced my grip and drew blood. She squealed and fell to her knees. “Never again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y… yes!” Barika gasped.

“Disappoint me again and I will have your soul flailed,” I warned, with no trace of a bluff. “Do you understand?”

She whimpered as she bowed her head. “ _Yes_ , Lady Heiress.”

I released her, but the weight of my Name upon her made her tremble. My own aura was not as blunt or as forceful as Squire’s, but it could still rattle an underling to the bones when I needed it to.

I had no desire to hurt Barika, yet in this case she needed a firm hand. She should not have used such a word. I knew that she was loyal to me, but there was too much aristocratic prejudice in her and that had to be gouged out with force. That was how Praesi learnt. _It is for her own benefit_ , I thought quietly. It would be unhealthy for her to escalate this rivalry with the upcoming Adjutant.

Across the yard, Catherine was looking at me even as Hakram and Barika departed. We faced each other, and the surrounding onlookers quickly made themselves scarce.

“My apologies for Sergeant Barika, Lady Squire,” I offered with a bob of my head.

Catherine paused for a long moment, and then nodded back. “It seems we must sort this matter out between ourselves,” Catherine said finally.

Yes, it was probably best to keep Hakram and Barika away from each other for a while.

“I proposed monitored supervision for the devils,” I suggested simply. “My devil unit can share the resource allocation with the sapper division.”

She frowned and raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You mean to share with Captain Robber?”

“I’m sure there’ll be no objections from him,” I said with a sweet smile. “I hear Captain Robber has taken quite a liking to my devils.”

A couple of days ago, Robber and a few of his goblin cohorts had snuck into the Wretched Hut to doll up the devils up in wigs, dresses and makeup. I wasn’t sure where they had even gotten the wigs and jewellery from and I was half-afraid to inquire – yet the goblins had actually proven themselves to be fairly good beauticians.

Honestly, I didn’t mind. I had already given up trying to preserve the dignity of my devil unit. The damage was already done, so I might as well find a way to work with that horrible goblin.

Catherine considered it for only half a moment. “Agreed,” she confirmed.

Well look at that – an easy agreement for once. I suppose that one had to happen eventually. I turned as if to return to my quarters, but Catherine lingered.

“It seems to me that your devils are looking rather unhealthy,” Catherine remarked.

“It’s a growing curve,” I replied, “but they will be battle ready for the next engagement, I assure you.”

She took a step close. “Sarika’s Third Principle,” Catherine slowly said, “states that extra dimensional entities will be continually degraded by prolonged periods in Creation.”

I had to laugh. “You’ve read those books I gave you,” I noted. It had only taken her a couple of months.

“I had a flick through them,” Catherine replied levelly. “But you’re investing a lot of time and effort into these devils and it seems like they’re not giving you much return.”

“If you are curious, you’re welcome to attend the next ritual,” I said with much amusement. “I’d be happy to discuss Sarika’s Principles in greater detail.”

Catherine did not reply, but her brow furrowed and then she turned to leave. Her suspicion of me must have led to Catherine actually _studying_ magic, and that thought made me feel rather cheerful. The Catherine that I remembered had despised learning about the theory of magic with a vengeance, and yet here she just quoted one of Sarika’s boundary principles. Future Masego would have been proud.

 _And that had perhaps been my single most pleasant interaction with Catherine so far_ , I considered later. I returned to my own tent and my scrolls, but I couldn’t shake that thought. I had seen potential there. Perhaps Catherine watching my scolding of Barika had done as much to prove my intent as anything.

As night fell, the encampment settled down into an uneasy lull. The nearby devils began to shriek as they regained some of their energy under the moonlight.

I was awake late sitting at my desk and sketching ritual schematics, when I heard footsteps outside of my tent. The steps sounded hurried, urgent. I stood upwards just as Fadila came rushing up to my door.

The senior mage looked breathless. I raised an eyebrow as I beckoned her in.

“Lady Heiress,” Fadila gasped. “An urgent report came via scrying. Lady Squire is already being informed, but I thought you should…”

Her voice trailed off. Fadila wanted to make sure I wasn’t out of the loop, such that I would have no reason to doubt her. “What happened?” I demanded.

“It’s from southern Callow. There are reports of an uprising.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Rebellion, my lady. They say that the Duke of Liesse has returned to Callow, and that a rebel army is now marching on the city. Already there is talk of heroes.”

Fadila was looking at me intently, but I did not reply. I simply turned to stare out over the camp and pursed my lips.

Fadila was clearly expecting… _something_ from me, but I kept my features impassive. The news was not entirely a shock to me. I had been expecting it would be coming, and I had seen the warning signs from Mercantis for a while now. Informants had spotted the money trails coming from Procer, they had heard news of mercenaries being hired and arms being shipped. I had known this would be coming.

Still, it wasn’t right – the timing was all wrong. I remembered that the first battle of the rebellion was _supposed_ to occur on the 5th of Mawja. It should have been a month away. I had thought that I still had more time. And yet somehow – for some reason – it was all happening ahead of schedule.

I stood at the doorway and I could practically see the news travelling through the camp. The sea of tents was stirring. The first scrying reports had only just arrived, but the word spread like wildfire. Word of an uprising, a rebel army, and a looming war.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, the Liesse Rebellion had already begun.


	14. Recall

_“A plan should only ever consist of three steps: what to do first, what to do when the enemy reacts, and what to do when it all goes to shit.”_

– **Aretha the Raven, Magister and General of the Spears of Stygia.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Recall**

I had known that the news would be coming, yet it still caught me out.

I had prepared for the Liesse Rebellion, of course. From early on, I had decided against trying to stop the rebellion altogether, and instead I chose to manipulate it for my own purposes. It had been my intention to allow events to unfold along a similar track for as long as possible, such that I could extract the maximum benefit from my foreknowledge. I had still made plenty of changes, of course, and yet it had been my hope that the resulting divergences would be suitably… local.

Months ago – in preparation for this moment – I had assigned some of my own spies deep into several critical locations around Mercantis and southern Callow. My spies had been bought with Wolof gold, yet they reported to me alone. The intention was that my agents would have several months to embed themselves in sensitive areas of the growing insurgency, waiting for rebellion to unfold. Others had already done the same – but unlike the imperial spy networks, I had an advantage in that I knew what I was waiting for.

Or at least, I thought that I did. In the days following the declaration of war in Callow, I was forced to reconsider my plan. The rebellion had already begun, and I wasn’t truly ready.

As always with war, the first feeds of information filtered through slowly in dribs and drabs. Reliable intelligence grew scarce; even agents embedded into rebellious factions were unable to send reports back to Praes amidst the fervour of uprising. Rumours and panic moved more swiftly than intel. Southern Callow had been plunged into chaos, and even the well-oiled imperial intelligence machine ground to a halt.

And yet, it adapted. Imperial spies made good use out of long-distance scrying rituals, and I had a few contacts remaining to me. Over the next few days a clearer picture of the situation began to form.

Leagues away, there was fighting in the streets of Marchford, all the while I was hunched over my desk and reading through a hundred scattered reports.

 _It is all different from what I remember_ , I concluded.

The broad strokes were the same, of course. Gaston Caen – once the Duke of Liesse – had still returned from exile, armed with a considerable amount of coin and a force of mercenaries from Mercantis. The repressed nobility of southern Callow had rallied around him to overthrow the yoke of the Tower. Marchioness Victoria Lerness of the Vale, Countess Elizabeth Talbot of Marchford, Baroness Anne Kendall of Dormer, and Baron Phillip Holden of Holden had all hailed Gaston Caen as the next King of Callow. Even the Exiled Prince from the Free City of Helike had joined to support the rebellion, fighting the good fight against the tyranny of the Dread Empire. The Lone Swordsman was still involved. The size of the rebel armies were (as far as I could tell) broadly the same as what I remembered.

Yet the differences were plentiful too. The timing, the uprising, and its triggers were different. In my timeline, the rebels had won an early victory against the empire when they had slaughtered an entire quarter of the Twelfth Legion at Marchford. This time, though, General Afolabi apparently hadn’t even been present in the city, and the Twelfth Legion had hardly even been engaged. Imperial garrisons were still being slaughtered across several cities, but there yet to be any major engagement. Faced with the size of the rebel army, the occupying legions had managed to retreat in good order.

Matter of fact, the Dread Empire appeared to be in an even stronger position than they had been previously. The Liesse Rebellion was off to a weaker start: likely as a consequence of their premature opening, the rebels were moving slower and with a bit less synchronicity.

 _Three weeks earlier_ , I considered. _The attack on Liesse is occurring three weeks earlier._

Yet the critical question was _why_? Obviously it was due to one of the changes I had made, yet I could see no clear line of causality. Then again, recently I had been noticing more and more divergences from what I had remembered. Perhaps it was simple chaos theory – the tumbling of sand in an avalanche. There had been many small changes, and it was only natural that they would build up to something greater.

The changes that I had made in Ater had somehow influenced the decisions that some other parties had made half a continent away. I could guess, but I couldn’t truly know how or why.

 _Perhaps this is a warning sign_ , I mused. From now onwards, my memories of the future would become less and less relevant.

* * *

It took three days after the first announcement before the Fifteenth called an emergency meeting. In those days there had been plenty of debriefs and reports – yet by now the picture had solidified enough that it could be passed downwards through the chain of command. Likely it was a situation that was being repeated across a dozen different legions, in a dozen different command tents after receiving the same reports.

For the Fifteenth, its senior officers were gathered in the stone command centre of the encampment outside the capital. We all sat tensely around the large oval table, while a storm broiled overhead and rains scattered down over the sands of the Wasteland.

Legate Juniper stood at the head of the table, her jaw clenched and waiting somewhat impatiently. Staff Tribune Aisha sat much more gracefully by her side, although they shared few words. The Quartermaster – Supply Tribune Ratface – attempted to sit pointedly away from Juniper while trying to shift closer to Aisha. I amused myself for a while by observing the unspoken dynamics between the three of them.

Meanwhile, Commander Hune took up her usual spot in the far corner of the room, careful not to block off access with her bulky folded legs. Senior Sapper Snatcher was beside her, and the height difference between the four foot goblin and the twelve foot ogre appeared almost comical. Snatcher occasionally made popping sounds with his tongue as he waited.

Across from Hune, there was Commander Barti – the most recent addition in the room. He was a stout, dark-skinned orc who had graduated from the College two years prior, and now he filled up the spot that would have otherwise belonged to Tribune Nauk. Barti was perhaps the most mild-mannered orc I had ever met, he spoke in a well-accented voice with barely any trace of the Steppes. Barti was unfamiliar with most people in the room, but had composed himself well so far.

Senior Mage Fadila sat with her arms folded on her own, though she inched closer to my seat. I positioned myself in the corner of the room, with Barika by my side as my aide.

Directly opposite me, Catherine sat with her legs crossed and leaning backwards in her chair, waiting irritably. Her adjutant Hakram sat beside her, closest to Ratface. The Squire had her corner and I had mine.

We had all arrived early, yet the person who was _supposed_ to be leading this meeting was actually running late. Kachera Tribune Irid was the very last to arrive; he scrambled into the room nearly a full minute after the bell mark, his greasy hair soaked wet from the rains outside.

“I’m here! Sorry about the wait,” Irid said in apology, as he scooped up piles of damp papers from his bag. “Gods Below, the weather out there is terrible.”

“You’re late,” Juniper gravelled in quiet warning. The legate was clearly not a fan of the kachera tribune.

“I know – dreadfully sorry. There was a queue at the bakers,” Irid explained regretfully, as he lifted up a large jam-soaked paper box from his bag. “But I’ve brought snacks!”

“Snacks?” Catherine repeated.

“The most important part of any successful meeting,” Irid said in sage advice, “ _always_ bring snacks.”

With a bright grin, Irid placed the box at the centre of the table, opening it up to reveal a selection of sugar-coated savoury sweets. The others in the room shared a look, yet Irid appeared oblivious. Hakram was the first to reach across and pick up a pastry. I sighed, and then picked up a pastry myself to relieve the tension.

There was brief pause as Irid took up position at his empty seat and began passing out bundles of papers to each of them.

“Right then, let’s start with the obvious,” Irid began, clearing his throat, “why we’re here. It’s official; Callow is in rebellion. A guy named Gaston Caen came and called himself king, and for some baffling reason a bunch of others are just going along with it.”

“Irid,” Ratface sighed, “your Bellerophon is showing.”

“I know, I know – you westerners with your monarchies and grasping despots,” Irid retorted, yet he said it with a grin and a roll of the eyes. “But anyways, the cities of Liesse, Dormer, Marchford, Vale, Holden and half a dozen others are now under rebel control.”

I saw several in the room pause as if unsure whether or not to say anything. After a moment, they chose to pick their battles and turned through the bundles of intelligence papers.

“The Twelfth Legion fell quickly,” Commander Barti observed in his deep, dour voice.

“They didn’t fight,” Irid corrected. “The rebels came hard and had too much support in the streets – holding those cities would have been impossible. It was better for them to empty the granaries and then retreat with whatever loyalists who wanted to leave.”

Namely, the Twelfth Legion had overseen the evacuation of any imperial supporters. Patriotism or no, a fairly large portion of the population preferred the reliability of the empire over the uncertainty of an uprising. That civilian evacuation meant that the cities now in rebellion control were missing key infrastructure.

“I did not expect the Holdfast to run so easily,” Snatcher commented.

“It was a strategic retreat,” Juniper said stiffly. “More political than tactical.”

Yes, I mused; Black’s biggest concern right now was not quashing the rebellion, but preserving the bread basket that was Callow. He couldn’t start killing the lice-ridden peasants because he was relying on those same peasants harvesting their fields for him.

“General Afolabi was not even in Marchford when it fell,” Irid clarified. “Him and the other legates of the Twelfth had been called to Summerholm for some debrief when the fighting broke out. It was General Sacker who took command of the southern front.”

Through the corner of my eye, I glanced at Catherine’s expression, and I noticed her brow furrowing slightly. _Did she know?_ I wondered. I couldn’t be sure.

Most of those in the room didn’t appreciate the significance of the general’s absence, but I did. I recognised that variation from the original timeline; General Afolabi had been elsewhere and I could guess why. Ever since I had informed Black about Malicia’s mind hooks in the most senior commanders, there had been a definite increase in unplanned movements. One by one, the generals and legates had been summoned to either Summerholm or Thalassina.

Black must have recruited the aid of Warlock in order to remove those mind hooks from his officers. I could only speculate how or at what cost, yet Warlock had clearly found a way to break Malicia’s influence.

Black had tried to be subtle about it, yet the activity had still caught notice. It was difficult to gather so many of the most senior officers under whatever pretence, and it was dangerous to remove generals from their legions.

 _Maybe that contributed to the accelerated timeframe_ , I considered. It was quite possible that someone somewhere had noticed those movements – the signs of internal unrest – and thus they had launched the rebellion early to take advantage of it. _The First Prince, perhaps?_

Everyone in the room thumbed through the papers, but I was mostly disinterested in mine. It contained information I already knew.

“What do we know about rebel numbers?” Juniper queried.

“Some thirty thousand plus,” Irid said with confidence, pointing to a page where he had even graphed a size breakdown of the armies. “From various backgrounds; the army consists of rebellious factions, veteran leftovers from the Conquest, household guards from the nobility, alongside many, many common militia. In addition, there are at least five thousand mercenaries hired from Mercantis – companies from either the Free Cities or Procer.”

 _Kachera Tribune Irid had_ , I admitted, _done a very good job at consolidating information from several different sources_. The reports he handed out now were detailed enough that they’d be considered acceptable even by the Scribe’s standards.

“But what’s harder to quantify is the level of popular support,” Irid continued onwards. “Generally that support is more from the cityfolk than the countrysiders. It’s hard to tell how many _exactly_ , but the rebellion is being propped up by the common masses.”

“But those are not trained,” Commander Hune commented. “Militia given swords and shields are not proper soldiers.”

“Not yet,” Catherine spoke up from her corner in a stiff tone. “But it’s a mistake to dismiss them. Callowans have strong military bones, and long memories – farmers will become soldiers soon enough.”

The statement was met by silence. Those were the first words the Squire had said out loud. For the most part, Catherine had sat very quietly, but her still presence hung over the table like a weight. It was lost on no one that we were discussing her nation, plotting war against her countrymen. _Long prices, indeed_.

“What about the Deoraithe?” Hakram asked, perhaps to move the discussion forwards.

“No signs of any commitments right now,” Irid answered, “but most likely Kegan will be hedging her bets.”

Irid turned the page of the report, and he began describing the other military aspects of Duke Caen’s army. Most worryingly, it was confirmed that the rebels had hired the Sons of Stone – a company of four thousand dwarven mercenaries, all very heavy infantry from the Kingdom Under. That caused a flicker of uneasy over the table. The prospect of the King Under The Mountain getting involved with topside affairs was as troubling now as it had been my first time around.

Then, Irid discussed the volunteer forces of Silver Spears under the Exiled Prince, before moving on to the various knightly remnants that had crawled out from the woodwork and all the other parties that had contributed support to the Kingdom’s cause.

“In addition, there are a handful of fantassin companies from Procer, but those are taking more of a supporting role,” Irid described. “They’ve been very trying hard to keep _those_ out of sight.”

“How much is Procer involved?” Catherine asked sharply.

“We’re pretty confident that the First Prince of Procer is bankrolling Gaston Caen,” the kachera tribune confirmed. “He couldn’t have afforded all this by himself. It’s not public – they’re trying not to admit it – but personally I’d give it even odds that there might be some Procerean commanders in the mix.”

I considered that doubtful myself, but I saw his reasoning. The Liesse Rebellion was a considerable investment by Cordelia Hasenbach and she would surely be looking for a return.

Its leaders had been careful to frame the Liesse Rebellion as a popular uprising; they could not allow the shadow of foreign interests to be seen. The Liesse Rebellion would lose much support if it became widely known that Duke Caen was the Highest Assembly’s puppet – something which the kachera tribune had actually underlined as a propaganda action point in his report.

“That is why Marshal Grem is sticking to the Red Flower Vales,” Irid added. “Black and Sacker are marshalling the Legions at Summerholm to hold northern Callow, but they’ve also got to keep one eye on the west.” Irid stopped and then snorted. “Ha – _one eye_ , I didn’t even mean to make that pun.”

Catherine bore a very strained expression, but Hakram placed a hand on her shoulder as if to restrain her. I decided to take that moment to speak up.

“It is more than just Procer,” I said from my own corner, and all eyes turned to me. “I am quite confident that High Lady Tasia of Wolof is also bankrolling the Liesse Rebellion.”

Catherine’s gaze darkened. “How confident?” she demanded of me.

“Oh, there’ll be no chance of proving it,” I replied, “but I’m sure enough to wager on it. My mother is certainly involved.”

High Lady Tasia hadn’t donated any gold in the previous timeline, but here the timing was just too suspect. I had little proof, though I felt confident in the assertion.

Everyone turned to stare at me critically. I leaned forward in many chair.

“Make no mistake; Tasia wouldn’t want the rebellion to _succeed_ ,” I explained. “But more likely she intends to use it as a distraction. My mother has suffered many losses recently, she has lost much of her gold and influence, and now she needs to divert Malicia’s attention away from herself. It is very likely that Duke Caen has received finance – perhaps anonymously – originating from Wolof. Prolonged unrest in Callow could work well to Tasia’s benefit.”

The resulting gains would be in the short term only, however, and it was a risky move regardless. This ploy didn’t feel like any sort of long term scheme, it felt like a holding action. _Mother must be feeling very desperate indeed_ , I mused, though I left that thought unspoken.

“If there’s a money trail, someone will be able to dig it up,” Ratface remarked.

“I have no doubt that the Empress’ agents are hard at work already.” I nodded. “But it doesn’t matter – it won’t be enough to pin anything on Tasia.”

Aisha seemed to realise the reasoning first. “Because the High Lady wouldn’t contribute anything that could tie back to her?” the staff tribune noted.

“That is correct,” I agreed, “There will be no soldiers from Wolof fighting alongside the rebels – no mages or artifacts donated. The most Tasia _could_ offer is additional mercenaries to support the rebels, but only to a limit.” I paused. “However, the Empire _is_ now at war, and it is an ancestral right of the High Houses to field volunteer forces to fight alongside the Legions. The imperial charter permits the High Lady to gather men under her banner during wartime. I might expect her to do so, for the chance to arrange further sabotage on behalf of the Truebloods.”

In what form, I honestly couldn’t say. The last time it had been me who orchestrated that sabotage, but now it would fall to someone else. I could only speculate who would be appointed to protect the High Lord’s interests in war-torn Callow.

“I hope _she_ does try something,” Catherine said coolly, her eyes locked on mine. “Black has been looking for a reason to burn her entire house.”

I only smiled. “You assume such sabotage will come from the front,” I replied sweetly, unperturbed. “Unlike myself, my mother prefers the indirect approach. She will exploit the laws as far as she can.”

The undertones in that exchange were clear. Catherine’s lips twitched and I kept on smiling.

After a while, the discussion moved onwards: Irid handed out maps of Callow marked with the most recent troop movements.

“How accurate are these?” Hakram queried.

“It’s been pretty good intel, honestly.” Irid nodded. “We’ve had more than I was expecting to have, all things considered.

“I’ve been coordinating with the imperial spy networks – most of this has come from them,” he explained, and then motioned across the table towards me. “But Akua has also been very helpful – she referred me to her own contacts and copied me into her own informant reports.”

I nodded graciously. Of everyone in the room, I had been working most closely with Irid. Across the table, Catherine seemed to withhold a scoff and it sounded like she muttered “course she has” under her breath.

“Everything I’ve received has been cross-verified,” Irid continued. He pointedly did not look at Catherine as he motioned to the intelligence report, “I’ve added references of what comes from where. I’ve put nothing in these reports that I can’t vouch for myself.”

Yeah, he was no fool. I had shared my own information sources with Irid; the kachera tribune had been grateful for my help, but neither had he trusted it. I knew that he had double and triple checked absolutely every piece of information I gave him. I could have told him that the sky was blue, yet Kachera Tribune Irid would have still walked outside to see for himself.

Then, Irid pulled out yet another bundle of papers from his bag, and pushed it across the table towards the Squire. Hakram accepted it on her behalf.

“But _this_ report is not as verified,” Irid added. “This contains intel that I couldn’t confirm entirely, but I thought it was important enough to pass on regardless. So read it with some salt, perhaps.”

 _There is no shortage of salt where Catherine is concerned_ , I mused. My arms were folded and I leaned back on my chair. Hakram frowned as he passed the new report across to Catherine.

“This is about heroes?” Hakram guessed.

“Yep.” He nodded. “All the exciting Named stuff.”

Catherine stiffened as she opened the pages. I had not read that report myself, but I knew what it would contain.

“A whole sweep of imperial informants in Liesse were culled,” Irid explained as Catherine read, “but we got lucky with a few.”

It had not really been luck at all – just my good planning. I had known that the Lone Swordsman was very good at weeding out spies, so I had actually planted agents with their memories removed. It was an old Praesi trick; you could seal a person’s memories away, plant suggestions in their mind, and thus you could make a spy who didn’t even realise they were a spy. Their memories could be unlocked when they needed to make reports to a handler, but otherwise their loyalties would remain undetectable even to those who could read minds.

“The Lone Swordsman,” Catherine muttered. “ _He_ is in Liesse?”

Irid nodded. “Not just him.”

Catherine suddenly realised why there were multiple pages in the report, and she looked fuming. She cursed in Kharsum. “Fuck. Whatever happened to the _Lone_ in Lone Swordsman?” she griped. “This is just unacceptable. Do you see Black prancing about in white robes? It’s called a _Name_ , not a Suggestion.”

Irid only chuckled, while Catherine furiously turned through the pages. There was only a single copy of that report, and the others around the table had to lean over her shoulder to try and read it.

“How many?” Fadila asked nervously.

“A total of six Named, possibly seven,” Irid confirmed. “Besides the lonely swords-guy, the most visible of them is the ‘Exiled Prince’ – from Helike, the leader of the Silver Swords. Rumours suggest that he’s also got another Named working under him, but they came late from Mercantis.”

“Which means that there are another four alongside the Lone Swordsman,” Catherine said, aghast. “Gods Below, he’s actually found himself a _band_.”

Those around the table who understood Namelore twitched. Those who didn’t understand Names likely didn’t appreciate the significance of the term. But they all knew the rumours of the fight between the Lone Swordsman and the Squire at Marchford – their _rivalry_. That meant that his heroic band was as good as guaranteed to become the Fifteenth’s problem.

“It’s early days right now,” Irid said regretfully. “We’re not even certain about their Names, honestly. We do know that the sharp and broody fellow was spotted rallying the crowds at Liesse.” Catherine snorted. “And there was some magic guy with him who was setting off fireworks during the parade. They also apparently met with some sort of thief in the city who opened up all the doors when the palace was raided. And then there was this another one who was reportedly harrying the rearguard of the Twelfth during the Marchford evacuation…”

“Fucking heroes,” Catherine grumbled. “Where do they all come from?”

“Providence, dear,” I said with a soft laugh. “Give them a crusade and they crawl out from the woodwork.”

Catherine flicked through the pages quickly. There was enough evidence to conclude that there were five Callowan heroes (not including the Exiled Prince and the Page), but still many gaps in what the spies could report through the fog of war. Catherine appeared frustrated at the lack of information.

Fortunately, in this case I could assist. I leaned forward, and raised my hand politely.

“I do happen to know a bit more than that,” I volunteered. “Lady Squire, perhaps we could talk in private?”

Catherine looked at me with a frown, but nodded curtly.

We waited until the meeting was finished, after some discussion regarding the more mundane military matters. The Fifteenth was to be deployed soon, with some urgency. Catherine and I remained seated, and Hakram and Barika were the last to leave. They both pointedly did not look at each other as they left.

The room turned quiet, the only sound was the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. I leaned forward and helped myself to one of Irid’s leftover snacks. After a pause, Catherine did the same, and we both chewed sugar pastries during the lull.

The Squire still held Irid’s report in her hand, looking through it twice over.

“My own sources have put together profiles on this band of five,” I began eventually. “And considering the subject, I thought it best to discuss with you in private.”

“Why would you care?” Catherine challenged.

“This is a _heroic_ band, and I will be by your side when we deploy,” I argued. “The heroes are as much a threat to me as they are to you.”

Catherine nodded her head as if conceding the point. “Fine,” she allowed, arms folded. “Do tell.”

“The leader – the Lone Swordsman. Your rival, obviously,” I started. “I began digging into him ever since his first appearance. His real name is William of Greenbury. I have reports that he once murdered his sister and her husband, only to collapse in guilt afterwards – _that_ was how he received his Name.”

Catherine’s brow raised in surprise. So she had not been aware of his origin story. “Then his is an anti-hero Name?”

“Tragic, conflicted backstory and all,” I agreed with a smirk. “There could be some advantage there. He is linked to the _Choir of Contrition_ – he saw an angel which forced him to repent. The blade he carries is called the Penitent's Blade, made from an angel feather.”

“ _That’s_ what that thing was?” Catherine mumbled, absently rubbing at the scar hidden under her clothes.

I nodded. “I have reports from Refuge that he has recently returned from Arcadia – and thus he has taken advantage of the time dilation. He could have been training for years while only months passed in Creation. He’ll be much stronger than you remember him,” I explained, as Catherine’s unhappy scowl deepened. I sympathised; heroes truly were so unfair. “I know of only one of the Lone Swordsman’s Aspects with any certainty – that of ‘Rise’. It is an Aspect that allows him to recover all inflicted wounds instantly.”

 _And I only know that because you once took the Aspect from him_ , I mused. Catherine paused in consideration, clearly surprised by the level of detail I could provide. Even if she didn’t trust me, she knew there was no advantage for me to lie here.

“I see,” she said simply.

Her voice remained non-committal, yet I knew she was interested. What I was offering here was very valuable information to know about a nemesis.

“Another of the Lone Swordsman’s band is someone he met in Refuge, likely during his return through the Arcadia Gate,” I continued smoothly. “A Named called Hunter. His given name is John, he is one of the Ranger’s pupils.”

At that, there was a definite ripple of surprise. “Wait, you mean _Ranger the Calamity_ Ranger?”

“The very same – though Hunter left Refuge to join the Lone Swordsman’s band without Ranger’s knowledge or approval,” I clarified, and then paused for a moment. “But there may be an opportunity there; should Black Knight reach out to Ranger, he may be able to leverage that information. There is currently a… a _truce_ of non-intervention between the Lady of the Lake and the Dread Empire, but one of Ranger’s pupils fighting against the Empire would warrant a response. If Black should twist her arm, then I expect that Ranger or one of her other pupils might step in to return Hunter to Refuge.”

Catherine sat quietly, but gave a slow nod. I suppose Black had shared little about the complexities of his relationship with Ranger. In the previous timeline, Ranger had been informed that Hunter had joined the rebellion and then dispatched Archer to collect him. I saw no reason why she wouldn’t do the same slightly earlier.

“I would advise that you discuss the matter with your mentor,” I suggested softly, and then I left the subject there.

“You haven’t even met this man, and already you’ve come up with a plan to beat him?” Catherine noted. Was it just me, or was there a mildly impressed tone in her voice?

“Of course. That’s what I _do_ , Squire,” I replied coolly. “Fighting fair is for the heroes, not us.”

Catherine made a non-committal sound. She turned to the next page of Irid’s report. “In here,” she commented, “there were sightings of a magic-focused Name?”

“That would be the Bumbling Conjurer,” I confirmed. “I don’t have much on him, admittedly, but I do know that he is native Callowan. I suspect he is a commonborn who fluked his way into unlocking his Gift, hence how he fell into the ‘Bumbling’ role. He is a sorcerer of very little skill but quite infuriating luck.”

Catherine nodded, and then she began making notes herself.

“‘Infuriating’ and ‘heroes’,” she mused. “It seems to be a theme.”

I had to chuckle. “Very much so. The Heavens prefer their pawns powerful and rather dim.”

Catherine smirked, and I moved on.

“I do have much more information on the Thief,” I continued after a beat. “Her I have managed to identify exactly – _Vivienne Dartwick_.” I stressed the name. “She is Callowan nobility; her father is a petty baron.

“But notably, House Dartwick has _not_ declared for the Liesse Rebellion. Her family is based in the north of Callow, and remains neutral. I believe her father is very recently deceased – of natural causes, mind – yet there are other family members who remain unaware of Vivienne’s Name or involvement.”

“Are you suggesting threatening her family?” Catherine said, in a rather chilly voice.

I shook my head. “No – threatening a hero’s family would put us in a bad narrative.” I kept my tone carefully non-aggravating. “But I suspect that the Thief is only tenuously loyal to the Lone Swordsman’s band, and knowledge of her identity will put her at a disadvantage. Perhaps a softer type of pressure could be applied?”

“What sort of pressure?” Catherine said, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“We promote them,” I suggested. “Vivienne still has uncles and cousins in House Dartwick – we could raise them up to positions of prominence in imperial-occupied Callow. Let us make it clear that Thief will not be able to fight against the Empire without also fighting her own family.”

 _I’m sorry, Vivienne, but this time I’m going to have to crush you._ I could not guarantee that the Thief would survive the rebellion this time around.

Catherine stopped to consider the prospect thoughtfully. She absently scratched her chin. I reckoned I could see the thoughts churning through her head. My plan was to target the heroes individually, pinpoint their weaknesses, and break down the Lone Swordsman’s band one by one. It was a tactic that Black was fond of, and even Catherine could find nothing to object.

“Did your Aspect give you all this?” Catherine asked eventually.

“It did,” I lied.

For a moment it seemed as if Catherine was about to say something else, yet she appeared to hold her tongue. Instead, she returned to the report before her.

“So we have the Lone Swordsman, the Hunter, the Bumbling Conjurer and the Thief,” Catherine concluded. “And what about the last one?”

At that, I hesitated. _How much should I explain here?_

“She is more complicated. And more troubling.” I paused. “She is not a martial threat, but the Wandering Bard is not to be underestimated.”

Catherine frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t have many details about her,” I said, though that was only half-true. “But I know that bards are difficult names; they are capable of twisting stories to their own purposes. She will be very difficult to kill, but…”

My voice trailed off as I noticed Catherine’s expression. Catherine had been letting me speak, yet an expression of genuine confusion flickered over her features.

Catherine was looking down at the spymaster’s dossier. I hadn’t looked properly at that report myself because I hadn’t thought I needed to, but in that moment I felt a wave of doubt. _Have I missed something?_

Catherine did not speak straight away, but she was staring between me and the paper with a quizzical frown.

“Strange,” Catherine said slowly, “but according to _this_ report, Heiress, there is no ‘bard’ in the Lone Swordsman’s band.”

I blinked, and forced myself not to react too quickly.

The imperial spies had concluded that there were seven Named associated with the Liesse Rebellion. I had just assumed that I knew who they were. There was the Lone Swordsman, the Exiled Prince and his Page, the Hunter, the Bumbling Conjurer, the Thief and the…

Catherine quietly passed Irid’s report across the table towards me, and on the final page…

The report contained details of a Named who had been identified when he had raided the rearguard of the Twelfth Legion. The guards had witnessed a dark-haired Callowan youth single-handedly setting fire to imperial supply caravans under cover of night. He hadn’t been identified with any certainty, yet enough soldiers had encountered him to make a good guess at his Name. On the paper, the hero had been listed as the “ _the Bitter Bandit (?)_ ”.

I faltered on the spot. _The Bitter Bandit?_

“I do apologise,” I managed after a pause. “I think that I must have gotten confused. I will have to go back and check.”

Catherine cast me a very dubious look.

“The Bitter Bandit?” Catherine mused out loud. “Is it too much to hope that he’s just an alcoholic who raids alehouses and enjoys drinking bitters?

I smiled but did not reply.

 _Fuck_ , I cursed silently, _I had been too cocky_. I hadn’t even checked the official reports on the Named because I hadn’t thought I needed to. Imperial spies had managed to pinpoint every member of the gathering band of five – and there was no Wandering Bard among them.

The divergence caught me out, and I had made myself look like a fool.

I made my excuses and departed, offering some empty promises to double-check my own informants. I noticed Catherine’s gaze lingering on my back as I went. Doubtlessly Catherine would be left wondering from where exactly I heard mention of a ‘Wandering Bard’.

I took a deep breath, returned to my quarters and began rifling through the hefty pile of reports I had received. _Kachera Tribune Irid hadn’t made a mistake_ , I soon realised. There was obvious evidence of a new hero sighting at Marchford, and it had been Scribe herself that had suggested his Name. I saw absolutely no sign of one ‘Almorava of Smyrna’.

The conclusion was unavoidable: the Wandering Bard truly was not present.

 _Instead, there is some hero called the Bitter Bandit?_ I wondered. I had no idea who that was. I knew that Bandit Names had occurred fairly regularly throughout Callow history, but one hadn’t appeared in the timeline I knew.

I leaned back in my chair, and considered the implications.

“Huh,” I said out loud, to the empty air.

The Wandering Bard. The Intercessor. The one Named who I couldn’t account for. Nobody truly understood her. There had been a few good guesses, yet no one had quite figured her out.

 _She has chosen not to appear_ , I decided, _and Fate has replaced her in the five-man band_. For some reason, her plan had changed. Was it because I didn’t have a rivalry with Catherine in this timeline? In the previous timeline, the Wandering Bard _had_ shown her hand quite heavily during the Liesse Rebellion. She had attempted to manipulate the Lone Swordsman to call down an angel at Liesse – but why would her intentions change at this stage? Did she think that her plan just wasn’t possible without my own rivalry against Catherine?

Perhaps the story she had been trying to weave simply didn’t work anymore. Perhaps she no longer saw the same opportunity here – or perhaps she saw a better opportunity elsewhere?

 _Or is it more fundamental than that?_ I began to wonder. The best anyone could tell, the Intercessor was an agent of the Gods themselves. She had represented both Above and Below on occasion. The Gods had sent me back in time, yet _she_ existed outside of Creation itself.

 _When my consciousness went back in time, did she come with me?_ I wondered. Could it be that the Wandering Bard also remembered events from that timeline?

It was possible that the Intercessor hadn’t been affected by the temporal shift – we had always theorised that the Wandering Bard was a product of something beyond Creation. She might be an immortal entity separate from time itself. I couldn’t know for sure, but the very possibility…

In the future, nobody had been able to explain what the Wandering Bard actually was. I hadn’t truly considered the implications.

There was a tremor up my spine at the very thought. I honestly felt nervous. The only thing I could say for sure was that Wandering Bard wasn’t present where she once had been. She hadn’t joined the band, she wasn’t even a part of the Liesse Rebellion – and seemingly some other Name had emerged to fill up her empty slot. Her absence felt even more concerning as her presence would have been.

Yet if she wasn’t in Callow, then where else could she be…?

* * *

…

 _Meanwhile_ …

High Lady Tasia Sahelian was having a very bad day.

It had been a very bad month, actually. Lady Tasia had recently returned from a discussion with one of her emissaries, only to discover that yet another of her hidden hedge funds had been confiscated by the Empress. Tasia had lost money, lost blackmail material, lost spies and lost influence. The Dread Empress was clamping down on her hard – cutting vital arteries that the Empress shouldn’t have even known about. Schemes that had been decades in the making had been severed.

The culprit was clear; Tasia’s own daughter had betrayed her. In the aftermath of Akua’s defection, Tasia was bleeding gold and power.

Tasia had suffered many losses recently. Her confidence had been betrayed, a large chunk of her treasury had been stolen. Her prize sorcerer – Dumisai of Aksum – had escaped her thumb. They had even opened up an academy – the ‘ _Unchained Academy_ ’! – using resources had been stolen from her house. The gall of it!

The High Lady had tried to protest such blatant thievery in the Imperial Court, only to be told quite plainly: if she tried to pick a fight, Malicia would unleash her attack hound. That was a battle Tasia was in no position to win.

Tasia did not usually show rage – she considered herself too high-bred for displays of emotion – but recent events had left her _seething_.

Yet the worst part of it all was that she didn’t even understand _why_. Tasia couldn’t understand what had prompted such a change from her daughter. All her efforts to uncover Akua’s motivations had turned up empty. There had been no bribery or blackmail that Tasia could find. As far as Tasia could tell, her daughter had simply woken up one morning with a complete personality change! Some had theorised that Malicia must have stolen Akua’s mind and had replaced her with a shapeshifting devil, and Tasia honestly couldn’t disprove the notion.

It was… troubling. Tasia hadn’t truly appreciated how badly Akua would be capable of hurting her. It was more than just playing the great game – this perfidy felt personal.

Already, Tasia had noticed the other High Lords starting to cut ties. Tasia had lost control of her own house, and even the other Truebloods were forced to isolate themselves. They could all be compromised. There was a chill in her bones as she realised that this affair might well be the end of her. Of her _legacy_.

 _No_ , the High Lady of Wolof thought with cold iron resolve. _I refuse. That child will not drag me down in her madness._

The night’s sky was dark; the stormy clouds above were split open by the high stone towers of Wolof. It was midnight when the High Lady finally retired to her chambers, her sharp heels striking a fast beat against the marble floor.

Tasia ascended the steps up to her private sanctum on the top floor of the tower – and then she halted immediately in the doorway. There was another woman in her room, lying on her four-poster bed.

“Evening, Tasia,” the intruder greeted, with a shameless smile and a glass in her hand. “Say, is this real orcish havkg? I haven’t had this stuff in _ages_.”

In Tasia’s own bed lay a Soninke woman, who was busy helping herself to the exclusive and expensive vintages stored in Tasia’s bedside cabinet.

The woman was dark-skinned with curly brown hair and honey amber eyes. She might have been some Soninke highborn, yet no one of noble blood would ever compose themselves in such a disgraceful fashion. Tasia had never seen her face before. The woman was wearing cheap traveling clothes, with a silvery flask in her hand and an ornate lute on her hip. She was grinning as she picked up a crystal decanter.

The High Lady's face did not reveal any fear or shock, but Tasia's heartbeat skipped.

A lesser-born person might have run away in alarm, or shouted for the guards. Lady Tasia knew better. This intruder had already snuck into a private sanctum at the very heart of Wolof – an ancestral place that the Sahelians had kept secure for centuries. This chamber was warded with such magic to keep _the Assassin_ itself out. If she was capable of breaking into _here_ , then already there was no chance of escape.

 _This woman has not killed me yet_ , Tasia thought after a beat. She was not the Assassin, and so she must be here for another purpose.

“Who are you?” Tasia asked in a calm tone.

She laughed. “Me? Consider me your own fairy godmother.” The stranger took a deep gulp of priceless wine. “Tasia, my dear, I’m here to make all your wishes come true.”


	15. Refugee

_“Oh dearie me, it looks like I’m being kidnapped again. Let me grab my travel bag.”_

**Delilah Fairfax, the Sweet Princess. As a renowned beauty of Callow, Delilah was famous for the numerous times she was captured and taken hostage, eventually developing a Name from being repeatedly rescued. Latter-day scholars theorise that her Role was actually villainous in nature rather than heroic.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Refugee**

The Fifteenth Legion marched down the gravel road. Most soldiers were on foot – two thousand legionnaires marching at an easy pace twenty abreast down the imperial highway that cut through the Field of Streges. The senior officers and commanders were either on horseback or travelling on the side of the supply caravans.

“I’m telling you, ‘The Many Deaths of Traitorous’ is the single most acclaimed work of art on the continent,” Ratface was saying, while he sat on the edge of the rumbling caravan. “I saw it at the Imperial High Theatre with Aisha once – when Traitorous gave his final monologue the whole theatre was up on its feet.”

Riding next to him on her undead horse, Catherine snorted.

“It’s a play honouring a lunatic emperor who commits suicide just to irritate everyone,” Catherine replied. “That’s like the most Praesi thing to ever Praes.”

The supply tribune shook his head in quiet despair. I sympathised – my own attempts to introduce Catherine to fine arts and culture had proved equally futile. Someday I hoped to drag her to the Ater opera house, but for now that was a long-term goal.

“You truly have no appreciation for the arts,” I muttered, riding my own midnight black Liessen charger. My hair was wrapped up in a knot against the dust of the road, shaded from the sun under an elegant wide-brimmed hat.

“I’m sorry I don’t want to sit through a _five hour_ long stage drama about the life of Traitorous.” Catherine scoffed. “And why is it that all Praesi ‘arts’ have to involve so much murder and devil summoning?”

“Well, _I’m_ sorry it can’t compare to that Procerean romance serial you keep in your bunk,” Ratface retorted.

At that, I turned. Catherine blinked in fluster.

“You keep _what_?” I exclaimed.

Catherine looked at Ratface in genuine shock. The Taghrebi only grinned. “How did you even know about – _Hakram you gossipy bitch!_ ” she screamed.

The Squire turned accusingly towards her adjutant with righteous outrage. The tall orc rode by Catherine’s other side, and appeared totally shameless.

“It just came out,” Hakram plainly replied.

The officers within earshot all cackled with laughter. I allowed myself a chuckle at her expression of gross betrayal. Catherine clutched her reins and grumbled.

“Why did we ever need to hire Irid as kachera tribune, when we have Hakram here spreading everything?” Catherine muttered foully.

At the sound of his name, Irid poked his head out of the carriage window. No one was surprised that he had been eavesdropping.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m in the secret _gathering_ business,” Irid called out in protest, “not the secret sharing one. You’re all lucky I don’t repeat the things I know.”

With those words, Irid looked meaningfully towards the orc and wiggled his eyebrows. Hakram merely snorted.

“Please.” Hakram shrugged. “You have absolutely nothing on me –”

“The Burnished Swan, three weeks ago,” Irid called quickly.

“– but in retrospect, it is wrong for us to encourage this unbecoming behaviour,” Hakram continued, barely missing a beat even as he abruptly swerved. It was actually impressive how the orc maintained his composure despite the moment of panic flickering through his expression. “As colleagues, we should _all_ strive to respect each other’s personal and professional boundaries.”

Even I twisted in my saddle to stare at him, but Hakram was very deliberately avoiding meeting anybody’s gaze. Catherine stopped and looked between them bemusedly.

“Alright, I’m not above pulling rank here,” the Squire announced. “What exactly did Hakram do three weeks ago at the Burnished Swan?”

At that, Hakram stirred his horse and quickly trotted away. We all watched him go, and the orc managed to hold his head up high despite the inglorious retreat. Irid motioned for Catherine to come closer, and then the kachera tribune leaned across to whisper something very quietly into Catherine’s ear. No one else could hear, but after a moment the Squire burst out into cackles of scandalous laughter. 

I’ll admit it – even I tried to eavesdrop. I also made a mental note to do some digging into that Procerean romance serial. I was not above being a gossipy bitch myself sometimes.

Meanwhile, a flurry of senior officers were demanding urgent answers, but the laughing Catherine refused to share.

“I will take on night watch for the next fortnight if you tell me what Hakram got up to at the Burnished Swan!” Tribune Nauk roared raucously.

Still, Catherine said nothing. She probably thought it more amusing to let us all speculate.

Around us, the sun was shining brightly as the Fifteenth Legion marched west. Occasionally the ranks broke out into a marching song, as the sound of two thousand boots thumped against the gravel road.

Already we had passed the Blessed Isle and the Field of Streges, and were marching west towards the Callow heartlands. The Fifteenth moved slowly, yet it was fair weather and we made good time. It seemed as if the legionnaires were in good spirits as they passed through the green fields and rolling valleys.

That joviality lasted only until the white walls of Summerholm came into sight on the horizon. Not long afterwards, our forward scouts returned and reported a large mass of people and tents a league ahead, crammed over the road entering the city-fortress.

As we crested the hill we all saw the host ahead; it was a bulging black spot like a tumour against the looming walls.

There were at least several thousand people filling the slums outside of the city, loitering before the gates. Probably more than ten thousand. The last time I was in Summerholm I had travelled through its outskirts, but now it seemed as if the outer slums had swollen in size tenfold. Masses of vagabonds filled the roadside, many living in squalor in makeshift tents.

It was no army, but Juniper wasn’t about to take any chances. The legate took command and ordered the Fifteenth into defensive formations.

“What is this?” Catherine demanded.

“Refugees, by the looks of them,” Legate Juniper replied stiffly.

“Refugees?” Catherine exclaimed. “The reports mentioned _some_ refugees, but not…”

 _But not that many of them_ , I thought. There were at least several thousand gathered around the eastern gate of the city, and the scouts were reporting even larger camps surrounding the other gates. Even the overflow camps were overfilled. Tens of thousands of Callowans were trying to flock into Summerholm, but the gates to the city were firmly closed. It was enough to make the Legion pause.

“I’m not too keen on marching the Fifteen through a crowd like that, Lady Squire,” Juniper warned darkly. “ _That_ right there looks like a riot waiting to happen.”

Yes, tens of thousands of hungry, cold and lice-ridden peasants would not be happy to see even more legionnaires. They might be desperate enough to do something foolish. In a battle against trained soldiers those peasants would be slaughtered, but Juniper did not want to preside over a massacre. The Legions were not trained to handle civil unrest.

“Find out more about the situation,” Catherine commanded. “We should set up camp for the night a safe distance away, and be sure of what we’re marching into.”

Juniper agreed and the Fifteenth obeyed. The carts ground to a halt as the sappers began to unload with practiced efficiency.

“What is happening, Lady Heiress?” Barika asked me uncertainly.

“The situation appears worse than we anticipated,” I replied. “Ensure that our devils are ready.”

That squadron of devils were currently being transported in their own wheelhouse, hidden out of sight and away from the sun by a tarped cage. After several weeks in Creation, the transference rituals had started to take effect – and my thirty devils had all grown in size. Where once they had been scrawny like small monkeys, over the last few weeks they had grown and bulked up like muscular, winged gorillas.

Continuous exposure to so much raw sorcery had caused several of the devils to develop the ability to breathe fire. Others had mutated additional eyes, or scorpion-like tails. A few were growing pincers or tentacles. Barika handled most matters of devil-handling on my behalf – she had even grown somewhat fond of the infernal creatures. I paused as I watched Barika scratch one of their scales with clear affection, and I recognised an almost intelligent gleam reflecting in its emerald eyes. _Yes_ , I thought approvingly, _they do learn fast_. Already those devils were swelling with magic, and soon my creations would be ready for the next stage.

“Follow me,” I ordered to the two largest, meanest devils. “I will need an escort while I am in Summerholm.”

The two flying gorillas lumbered into motion. They had become strong and resilient after being exposed constantly to magic and Creation. I saw the runes over the scaled hides glimmer as they passed through the ritual circle.

Meanwhile, it didn’t take long before we received a welcoming party from Summerholm. A senior tribune of the Ninth rode out to greet the Fifteenth at the same time as Fadila made scrying contact with the garrison inside the city. It was near dusk as the scouts and commanders gathered outside of the Squire’s command tent. There was a huddle of a dozen or so talking in muttered breaths.

I stood and I watched with both the devils by my side, their camouflage enchantments rendering them as translucent shadows in the gloom.

“Who are those people?” Catherine demanded sharply, motioning to the overfill camps in the distance.

“Those are all imperial loyalists to some,” Commander Barti reported in dry tone, after coming back from meeting with the Ninth’s welcoming party. “Detractors to others.”

“I did hear that the Twelfth evacuated some from Marchford,” I remarked, stepping forward into the fray. “But I did not expect to see so many.”

“It’s not the Legions who are responsible for all those. The Twelfth started the first evacuation,” Barti explained, “but it’s the rebels who’ve been continuing it. The rebels have been herding the refugees north, forcing them onto our doorstep.”

“Aye, everything from Marchford is pretty much cleared out,” Irid said in agreement. “The Sons of Stone have taken over that city, and those dwarves don’t care much for humans. They cleared half the city and forced the evacuees to go either north or south.”

So the civilians who chose the empire had come north to Summerholm, while those who chose the rebellion would have headed south to Liesse. They had forced all civilians in the middle to pick a side. _Like a thresher_. Catherine grit her teeth at the very thought.

“It’s not just those from Marchford, boss,” Captain Robber reported. Even the goblin kept his voice respectful, seemingly sensing Catherine’s dark mood. “Our bands are reporting empty villages all over the place. We’ve spotted burnt farmhouses and plenty of tracks. They’ve emptied this whole countryside – and made sure there’s nowhere else for the people to go but Summerholm.”

“Who?” Catherine pressed. “The dwarves?”

There was a quiet grimace around the group.

“Apparently it was the Bitter Bandit,” Robber admitted, shaking his head.

“The _hero_?”

“Not so sure about _that_. He’s not the subtlest knife in the drawer that one, but I hear he’s a real deft hand with a matchstick. Enjoys setting fires.” The goblin paused. “Actually, you two might get along.”

From Catherine’s expression, that attempt at humour was very poorly received. Perhaps it was lucky that Commander Barti stepped in when he did.

“The Bitter Bandit is leading a group of marauders,” Barti clarified. “They’ve been avoiding the city limits but scouring through the countryside, and the legion patrols can’t stop him.”

“And he’s targeting _civilians_?” Catherine demanded, sounding appalled.

Various glances flickered to Irid. “The way I hear it,” the kachera tribune reported, “lots of farmers have been sitting in the homes, and then suddenly they get a knock on their door. From a bunch calling themselves the _King’s Men_.”

“Bandits,” Juniper muttered distastefully.

Irid nodded. “Those bandits have been ransacking lots of farms and villages while searching for ‘dissenters’,” he continued. “But in this case, dissenters being anyone who can’t prove their loyalty.”

“And how do they expect these people to prove that?” I asked quietly.

“Usually either by _enlisting_ ,” he stressed the word, “or by making a donation to the cause.”

Catherine’s fist curled tightly. She gripped the pommel of her sword so tightly I reckoned I could hear the goblin-steel groan.

“Extorting civilians,” Catherine muttered in quiet disgust. “Chasing people from their homes. That’s not even anti-hero shit – that’s straight up _villainy_.”

 _Yes_ , I considered, _it’s the type of plan I would enact_.

“But this is more than mere thuggery,” I remarked. “There is strategy at play too. They know that – on average – farmers in the countryside tend to support the Empire more than those in cities do. They know that the Empire relies on crops from those farms. So they clear the population, they herd the civilians north to our gates.” I shrugged. “They are creating refugees and letting them put a strain on _our_ infrastructure rather than their own.”

 _And likely they will let the Empire take responsibility when the famine and disease settle in_ , I mused. When starvation strikes, that many hungry peasants would soon start looking for someone to blame – and many would prefer to blame the imperialists rather than rebels. Still, Catherine didn’t seem to appreciate that answer.

“Who commands in Summerholm?” Catherine muttered. “It’s not General Afolabi, is it?”

“No,” Barti replied levelly. “It’s General Sacker.”

Catherine was clearly not pleased by that answer. Understandably too: General Sacker was as cunning as they came, but the old goblin was not one that you wanted handling any sort of civil unrest. Or at least not if you actually cared about being _civil_.

Catherine stood in quiet contemplation for a while, before turning to her officers.

“Snatcher,” she addressed. “Make preparations towards establishing fortifications around those refugee camps. Those camps need a wall around them, watchtowers, and some proper housing. Are your sappers up for the task?”

The senior sapper hesitated, glancing towards the distant camp several thousand strong. “Not to back away from a challenge, Lady Squire, but there’s a _lot_ there to secure.”

“Do it,” she commanded. “With the Bitter Bandit at large, it’s not safe to leave so many defenceless.”

Snatcher saluted. “Yes, Lady Squire.”

Catherine turned around to the others. “Irid, I want you to begin outreach to the leaders of the refugees. Make sure they know that we’re on _their_ side,” Catherine instructed. “Try and recruit as many you can to help with the construction efforts.”

The kachera tribune nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Squire, playing defence is no long term solution,” Juniper warned. “And they’ll likely be plenty of rebels mixed in with those refugees – we can’t handle them all.”

“That doesn’t mean we leave them either,” Catherine said curtly. “Keep the Fifteenth safe, manage the risk, but do what you can. Meanwhile, I’m going to go have a talk with General Sacker concerning the benefits of _sharing_.”

That would not be a pleasant talk for the general, I imagined.

 _You really do care, don’t you?_ I observed quietly. Juniper clearly bore doubts – there were valid tactical and logistical concerns about trying to manage such a vast number of refugees – but the Squire had already made the decision. She seemed quite upset. _Catherine has to protect the venerable sanctity of farms and countless peasants everywhere_ , I mused, _as she is very concerned with their fate even though they are ignorant and full of lice_.

“Captain Robber,” Catherine ordered firmly, in between the flurry of demands and queries. “I want you to take your sappers, and see if you can hunt down these _King’s Men_. Find out where they’re hiding and I’ll come with you to do the rest.”

The goblin’s fangs gleamed – a wicked and cheerful grin in the dusk.

“Aye aye, boss,” Robber returned happily.

I stepped closer. “This would be an opportune time to test out my devils, Squire,” I suggested.

For a moment Catherine looked ready to refuse on instinct, yet then she hesitated as she recognised the sense. She glanced behind me towards the two hunched, translucent shapes standing like gargoyles.

“Because a squad of flying devils is clear hero-bait,” Catherine conceded. “We can unleash the devils out to draw the heroes out of hiding.”

I nodded. My own unique crop of devils would surely be reduced to mere fodder when fighting heroes, yet they could still work as useful lures. Providence would draw the heroes to fight them – heroes could never resist.

“Captain Robber,” I announced, smiling sweetly. “It appears that my little pets will be joining your raid squad.”

Robber cackled in laughter. He patted one of the giant gorillas on its haunches and it hissed – bearing three-inch long, semi-invisible fangs.

“I love this job,” the little goblin giggled. “Can I ride one? Please, _please_ let me ride the devil.”

I pointedly ignored him, because any attention would have only encouraged him further.

“Go gather the pack,” I commanded to my minions. “ _Fly_ – Akua’s Underwear, Cat’s Booty.”

At that, Catherine flinched and turned to face me. “ _What?_ ”

“Oh no, I was talking to the devil,” I replied with an innocent smile. “I named this one Cat’s Booty.”

I turned and walked away from her incredulous stare as Robber began hollering. Behind me, the devils’ leathery wings flapped open, and with a great whoosh the beasts burst upwards into the night’s skies.

* * *

The very next morning, come sunrise, we were escorted through the tense and uneasy refugee slums, and then up to the eastern gate of Summerholm. A phalanx of the Ninth’s legionnaires came with us, along with one Senior Tribune Dalia who had been assigned to meet us. Catherine became quite cross when the senior tribune ‘respectfully requested’ that the Squire did not bring any goblinfire stocks into the city limits. Apparently some were nervous about Catherine’s reported pyromaniac tendencies.

Barika came with me while Catherine was accompanied by Adjutant Hakram, Tribune Nauk and a single line of heavies – but the rest of the Fifteenth had been left outside of the city.

Inside the gates, General Sacker’s fortifications had already turned the city into a death trap. There were barricades over every road. The Ninth Legion had set up killing fields in front of each gate, ready to cut down swathes of refugees outside at the first sign of a mob. Densely-packed civilians and readied munitions; Sacker was clearly prepared to defend Summerholm from a large civil riot in the outer slums.

Outside the gate the people were crammed like livestock, but inside the stone streets of Summerholm felt strangely empty. The once-heaving market roads were left eerily deserted – absolutely everything had been commandeered by the Legions.

“We had killings not long ago,” Senior Tribune Dalia explained, as she escorted us over the bridge. “There were serial killings in the streets – insurrectionists were targeting soldiers and sympathizers. The heroes led an uprising in the city itself – the Imperial Governor was one of the first to die.

“All the bodies were found tortured and mutilated, with the same words carved into their flesh,” she continued darkly. “ _No truce with the enemy_.”

All the while the Bitter Bandit had been burning through the countryside, it appeared that the Lone Swordsman had been busy on a different front.

“Fuck,” Catherine muttered. “What did Sacker do?”

“The general locked down the streets and declared martial law.”

We both stopped at a street of scorched rubble. It had been deliberated, I noticed; the sappers of the Ninth must have exploded the buildings to herd the cityfolk down the streets. There were signs of recent riots that had been suppressed by munitions.

“She emptied _everyone_ ,” Catherine realised. “You forced _all_ of the people out of the gates.”

“Not everyone,” the tribune defended. “Only those of the population without any clear imperial loyalty. We couldn’t handle the influx of so many refugees.”

 _Clear imperial loyalty_. The very words caused Catherine’s gaze to darken. Meanwhile, the rebels had been chasing off anyone without clear royalist loyalty.

“But that’s what they fucking _want_ ,” Catherine hissed furiously. “They came hard, we came down harder – so then that excuses _them_! They’ll twist it like it’s all the Legions fault. Fuck, Sacker is playing into their hands.”

The senior tribune backed away, as most sane people tend to do when they realised they had angered a Named. I faced Catherine and didn’t back away.

“What else _could_ she do?” I challenged. “She couldn’t let the refugees into the city when the heroes are about. The general couldn’t risk those sort of riots in the city streets.”

“But it’s the exact same bloody tactics on both sides!” Catherine snapped. “And it’s all the ordinary people caught in the middle. How many do you even have out there? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand?”

“The city _is_ secure,” Dalia muttered quietly. “The Ninth Legion has hunkered down, the streets are safer, and Sacker is not going to lose control.”

“And how does Sacker plan on feeding the horde of civilians now sitting on her doorstep?” Catherine challenged.

The senior tribune did not reply, but her gaze flickered to one side.

“Simple,” I said quietly. “She doesn’t.”

Hunger would bite down on those refugees outside long before it hurt those inside. Sacker was holding all the grain reserves and didn’t need to share them. It wasn’t the _best_ solution, but to Sacker’s mind there was likely no alternative. Tensions were strained; the risk of a hero-led insurgency tearing apart her city was too high. Honestly, I couldn’t even fault the decision.

But Catherine’s jaw clenched. The Squire looked so furious she might well have stabbed someone. She needed to stop and walk away just to calm herself.

“What of the Eleventh Legion?” I asked eventually.

“General Istrid and her legion went east,” the senior tribune managed, clearly on-edge. “The Silver Spears were raiding the supply lines going east, so the Eleventh had to give chase. The Ninth stayed behind in Summerholm – they were worried that the Sons of Stone might move up from Marchford and siege this city properly.”

“The Sons of Stone,” Nauk murmured. “Waiting for them to come seems like a big risk. Why not go on the offensive?”

“It was considered too risky to engage the Sons of Stone directly. Those dwarves are each armoured like steel bricks – they’re the heaviest infantry around. If they’re holding Marchford, then Sacker decided to let them have it.”

Yes, the Sons of Stone were considerably meaner than most mercenaries. Unlikely in the previous timeline, here those dwarven mercenaries had been detached from the main force of the rebellion. The dwarves now held Marchford like an anvil, digging in and threatening the imperial forces on all sides.

Meanwhile, Black was caught holding back the Countess of Marchford in the Vale alongside with the Tenth and Twelfth Legions, all the while Baroness Dormer was threatening his eastern flank. Black wasn’t in any particular danger, but neither couldn’t he fall back. In most scenarios the Legions would be the victors on the battlefield, yet the rebels had scattered to take full advantage of their superior numbers. For now, the two sides were dancing around each other.

Yet it was in Summerholm that the situation appeared to be the most dire, although that was largely because of the presence of the heroes. The unrest was simmering. The Lone Swordsman’s band strategy here was much more obvious than what I remembered from them.

We left the guards behind as we ascended up to the Comital Palace – an austere, military structure that overlooked the whole city. The general was apparently expecting us immediately, and Catherine and myself – along with Hakram and Barika acting as our aides – were escorted up to a reception room in a wing of the palace that had been repurposed by the Legions.

Inside, the furniture was expensive imported Liessen wood and freshly polished. The tapestries adorning the walls depicted hunts or battles, and the amount of Imperial defeats on display indicated that nobody had bothered to change them since the Conquest. A carafe of cooled wine was waiting for us in the antechamber, along with servants offering a pair of crystal glasses. Neither Catherine nor myself cared for the drink.

A small goblin woman was waiting out on the balcony. She was under five feet tall and so heavily wrinkled her face could have been a mask. General Sacker looked almost half-sleep; her yellow eyes were half-lidded as she overlooked the city from the battlements. 

“Lady Squire,” the leathery goblin greeted in a harsh, flinty voice. “And Lady Heiress too. What a pleasant surprise.”

I smiled with a polite bob of my head. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, General Sacker.”

At my side, Catherine clearly wasn’t prepared to indulge in the game of veiled pleasantries. Her arms were crossed.

“General Sacker,” Catherine growled. “Care to explain why half the city is being left to starve outside of the gates?”

I swallowed a grimace. Sacker paused, turned and scowled.

“You are the Squire,” the general said in a slow and warning tone, “but do not expect that you can speak to me in that tone.”

“I did not come here expecting to see a disaster in the making,” Catherine challenged, stepping forward. “There are crowds of families out there that you’ve forced from their homes.”

“I did what I had to do to protect my city,” Sacker grunted.

“What’s the point in protecting a city if you don’t _have_ a city?”

Catherine motioned down to the empty stone streets below. Summerholm did feel hollow.

“Yes, there are a lot of people out there,” Sacker agreed, as she hobbled around to face the Squire. “There are too many people – the insurrectionists hiding among the crowds.”

“They are _civilians_.”

“Maybe, or maybe they are rebels.” The general shrugged. “Personally, I often can’t tell the difference.”

Catherine’s nostrils flared. “Well, if they weren’t rebels before, they sure as hells are now,” she accused in a bitterly angry tone. “You chased them out from their homes with the other refugees – you might as well have handed out flyers for them to the rebellion.”

“Oh, I will happily let them into _my_ city again,” Sacker said sharply. “ _After_ the heroes are dealt with. Right now I have two problems, Lady Squire: the refugees and the heroes. I could manage either one, but I can’t deal with both together.”

Catherine looked ready to object, but I gently cut in-between them.

“I feel this discussion is going off track,” I said quietly. “Perhaps we should be focusing on what needs to be done in the present?”

Catherine turned and glowered at me, but I just tilted my head. The general grunted. “Agreed,” Sacker said with a sharp nod. “Now that you’re here we might actually have a chance of dealing with this situation. _Please_ , Lady Squire, Lady Heiress – take a seat.”

The goblin motioned in an exaggerated fashion to a set of red velvet chairs. The three of us took a seat, while our aides stood quietly in position behind our respective chairs. General Sacker helped herself to a large glass of wine.

“Tell me about these heroes,” Catherine demanded finally, a scowl still lingering over her sharp eyes.

“You’ve seen the profiles on them, I assume?” Sacker grunted. “Well, at least three are in the city itself. The Lone Swordsman and the Bumbling Conjurer are here. The Thief probably comes and goes as she pleases. I’m not quite sure where the Hunter is, but the Bitter Bandit is definitely the one burning all those farmhouses outside.”

Yes – thirty devils and a cohort of Robber’s goblins had spent the night searching for those bandits, but with no luck. Apparently the ‘King’s Men’ moved fast, hid well and left scorched barns and fields in their wake.

“Inside Summerholm, the torturing and killings have mostly stopped ever since we locked the streets down,” Sacker continued. “None of my soldiers are allowed to travel except in groups, and now the heroes don’t have much of a population to hide behind. We’re still trying to search the city for where they’re hiding, but little luck so far because – well – _heroes_.”

“Is the Warlock still in the city?” Catherine queried. _Along with his son_.

“He is,” Sacker confirmed. “Lord Warlock has helped strengthen the city’s wards, but most of the time he’s been holed up in the western bastion. The Warlock even had a skirmish against the Bumbling Conjurer the other week, but the hero managed to slip away by luck.”

“Course he did,” Catherine muttered.

“Right now, it’s actually the Thief who has been the most troublesome for me,” Sacker continued. “She’s been stealing stocks of munitions and rations all over the place. There’s no place safe to keep them, I need to put my stores under twenty-four hour guard, and even then I’m losing supplies by the day.”

Which would be stressing the already limited manpower of the Ninth, I considered. Sacker likely hadn’t been lying when she said she couldn’t deal with so many refugees also.

“It figures,” Catherine said lowly. “The Thief will be trying to weaken you as much as she can, all the while the Lone Swordsman works on rallying that crowd outside into a mob.”

“Meanwhile the Bitter Bandit is busy setting fire to farms and cutting off supplies coming from the roads,” I agreed, as I reached across for a glass of wine. “And the Hunter picks off important targets, while I guess the Conjurer is just bumbling around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what they’re doing.” Sacker nodded. “The heroes are a problem, but my men just aren’t cut out for stopping them. We can’t even find them – they hit us hard and then slip away into nothing.”

“And the Warlock hasn’t been able to help?” Catherine queried.

“Not much,” Sacker said with a bitter scoff. “Lord Warlock emerges occasionally when he really needs to, but never for very long. I get the impression that this is all a distraction to him.”

Catherine’s scowl deepened. _The Lone Swordsman has a different plan here_ , I considered thoughtfully. In the previous timeline, the Swordsman had stirred up unrest in Summerholm in an attempt to assassinate the Warlock – and, true, it felt as if that was still an objective. But it wasn’t their _only_ objective: their method here was different, their intentions seemed broader.

 _First forcing the refugees, stirring up riots, stealing food stores_ … It seemed as if the heroic band was planning on collapsing the entire city. They were set on triggering a riot of a hundred thousand people against the Empire.

“Every day more and more refugees are coming to Summerholm because they think there’s nowhere else to go,” General Sacker continued foully. “Between them bloody bandits and those damn dwarves, they’ve chased out every farmer from here to Marchford.”

“Letting hungry refugees simmer outside is not helping the situation,” Catherine warned.

“Those refugees are a barrel of burning sharpers ready to blow,” Sacker retorted, “and I just want to make sure they’re outside when they go off.”

Catherine’s mouth pursed, but she did not reply. After a long pause, General Sacker dragged herself up from her chair.

“As far as I’m concerned, taking care of these heroes is a job for you two,” the old goblin said finally. “Or yours and Warlock’s. Do let me know however I can assist.”

With that, the general clicked her fingers to summon her tribune to her side. The old goblin turned and hobbled out of the room, leaving Catherine and myself still sitting by the table.

I sat quietly, inspecting Catherine’s gaze through the corner of my eye. She was doubtlessly considering the same thoughts as I was. We sat in contemplation for a while.

“William has split up his party, each one onto different tasks,” Catherine muttered finally, echoing my own thoughts. “He has a whole _band_ of broody anti-heroes.”

“He is the _Lone_ Swordsman,” I remarked. “Leadership is not in his Role – his team likely does work better individually.”

“The whole band sounds like a proper piece of work to me,” Catherine scoffed. “The Bitter Bandit, the Thief, the Hunter… It’s a wonder they can meet up at all without cutting themselves on so much _edge_.”

“I can hear the judgmental monologues already,” I said with a mock shudder.

She snorted, and we shared a rare smirk between ourselves. Catherine’s gaze towards me was wary, but for once she didn’t appear to object to my presence. She saw the situation and knew that she needed my help.

“Any word from Refuge?” I asked finally, as I leaned back in my seat.

“None.” Catherine shook her head. “I did talk to Black about pressuring Ranger to intervene regarding Hunter, but haven’t heard anything back. I get the impression that Ranger is not an easy person to work with.”

I made a noise. _You have no idea_.

“But I have been in contact with the new Baron of Dartwick, Vivienne’s uncle,” Catherine continued. “He’s on his way to Summerholm right now – and it occurs to me that he could be a candidate to fill in for the deceased Imperial Governor.”

I paused. _That… that is a good idea, actually_. For all she was remarkably blunt, Catherine did have talent for the softer manipulations.

“Because the Lone Swordsman has already killed two governors,” I mused. “I doubt that Miss Dartwick would be on-board to kill a third one if her own uncle takes up the role.”

Catherine nodded. “If he’s split up his party, then that’s how we’ll beat him,” Catherine decided. “We know our enemy, we’ll hunt them down one by one.”

I could approve of that plan. We met each other’s gaze and stood up from the table together. Barika bowed her head while Hakram saluted.

“What happens now?” Hakram asked.

“Now?” Catherine sighed. “I suppose we should go see Warlock.”

* * *

We walked together towards the western bastion; for once Catherine and I walked side by side as we discussed our plans. For once, there wasn’t the same hostility between us. Perhaps Catherine still didn’t like me, but now had a common enemy in the heroes.

We approached the entrance to the western bastion, such as it was. The squat tower in front of us was one of the several that dotted the outer ring of the city, overlooking the streets under it with a wide top designed to accommodate bowmen and siege engines. Should an army manage to make it past the outer walls, Summerholm had been built to bleed them dry. A handful of legionnaires stood in the alcoves flanking the gates to the bastion itself, but there was no sign of any activity up above. The Calamity had likely claimed the entire defensive structure for himself.

As we stepped closer, both Catherine and I stopped when we felt the tingling against our skin. There was magic here, and a powerful sort. _A dimensional ward_ , I recognised, with some admiration. It was good work. No one could quite cut Creation apart the way Warlock could.

We approached the boundary and the set of thick oaken doors hesitantly. No one was present at the door. It looked as if Catherine would have just barged straight into the tower, but I held out my hand to stop her.

“There is a speaking stone, Catherine,” I chided, motioning to an enchanted device embedded into the centre of the entrance. “You’re not meant to just _walk in_ – you ring the stone to announce yourself first.”

Catherine scowled, but there was a slight moment of fluster as she tapped crudely against the smooth stone. _Still the Laurean girl_ , I thought amusedly. Catherine knew nothing about the use of magical artifacts – arcanery as a whole was a subject where Black’s tuition had failed her.

The stone buzzed at Catherine’s touch.

“Hello?” Catherine called, speaking loudly and pressing her mouth very close to the stone. I hid my amusement. “Hello, Warlock?”

From the stone, a distorted voice buzzed. “Hold there,” someone answered. “The wards are detecting interference – are any of you carrying anything magical?”

Catherine turned and glanced down towards my dress; the rippling red silk was enchanted to be as hard as steel. Catherine – like the caveman she was – had always distrusted anything magical, but I never went anywhere with an assortment of protective enchantments and bound spells on my person.

“Some,” I admitted.

Through the speaking stone, it sounded like a man sighed. “The wards are very sensitive. I’ll have to come down to calibrate them to your entry,” he said. “Do not try to walk through or you might be vaporised.”

The speaking stone disconnected abruptly. We were left waiting irritably by the door. I began idly inspecting Warlock’s ward, only for it to react with a spark of lightning with my touch. _Very sensitive indeed._

“Barika you might want to step backwards,” I advised quietly. “These wards are set to react violently to any foreign magic coming near.”

I was wearing an enchanted dress and jewellery, but Barika had an entire magical grimoire tattooed onto her skin. I had been using Barika to carry bound devils for emergency use, and that was a lot of concentrated magic stored inside of her. If Barika even stepped close to the Warlock’s wards I half-expected them to trigger. Barika heeded my warning, and she cautiously backed away until she stood around the corner.

“Bloody sorcerers,” Catherine murmured under her breath.

A few minutes later, the door was opened and a tall Soninke youth popped his head around. It was my first time seeing him again, yet I recognised him in an instant.

We were about the same age, but Masego stood taller than I was – much taller than Catherine – with a scholar’s build. His hair was long and split in a dozen braids threaded with trinkets of silver and precious stones, many reflecting light in unnatural ways. The grey robes he was decked in went all the way to his ankles, covered with a leather apron with pockets filled with various arcane implements. Thick eyebrows and dark brown eyes were half-hidden by a pair of thick spectacles, his lips were fleshy and from the looks of it he bit them often.

As the Hierophant, Masego had held an aura of unknowable power, but as the Apprentice he appeared remarkably plain. It seemed so strange to see the colour of his eyes again.

Masego looked out through the doorway, and faint recognition flashed in his gaze as he turned to me. 

“Oh,” Masego said in greeting. “It’s Ubua, yes?”

 _Oh fuck off_.

Gods Below, I had half-forgotten that whole ‘Ubua’ thing, but the mention made me stiffen. I replied with a very waxy smile. Catherine blinked, Hakram glanced at me, but I firmly ignored their stares.

“It’s _Akua_ Sahelian, the Heiress,” I greeted, as the very picture of politeness. “A pleasure to see you again, Masego.”

“Ubua?” Catherine whispered, but I nudged her to be silent with my elbow.

Masego nodded obliviously, and then turned to Catherine. I noticed the glimmer of sorcery flashing in his spectacles. “So you’d be Lady Squire, I take it?”

“That’s me,” Catherine agreed. “And you’d be…?”

“Apprentice,” the boy introduced himself with a half-smile. “But you can call me Masego.”

“Catherine,” she replied, although I knew she would be revisiting that ‘Ubua’ subject later. “And this is Adjutant Hakram of the Fifteenth.”

The Apprentice nodded in the orc’s direction, then frowned. He pushed up his spectacles and stared at Hakram for a long moment.

“Huh,” he spoke thoughtfully.

Through those enchanted spectacles, I could guess what he was staring at, but Catherine raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Adjutant,” Masego muttered. “That’s a new one.”

 _Ah, so is this how she first became aware?_ I wondered quietly. It figured – I knew that in the previous timeline word of Hakram’s Name circulated shortly after Summerholm. I deliberately remained quiet as Catherine blinked.

“The rank’s been around for a while, actually,” she replied slowly.

“Probably.” Apprentice shrugged. “I have, however, never heard of it turning into a Name before.”

I feigned my own expression of surprise to match the one plastered over Catherine’s and Hakram’s features.

“I’m an orc, sir,” Hakram spoke carefully. “We don’t really do the Name thing.”

Masego clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.

“Inaccurate,” he chided Hakram. “Names were fairly common in the Steppes before the Miezan occupation.”

“That was the better part of two thousand years ago,” Catherine said.

The Apprentice merely tutted, seemingly utterly indifferent to that fact.

“It’s still nascent in form,” Masego noted. “If it makes you feel any better, you might get yourself killed before it turns into anything concrete.”

Masego was already turning away dismissively. His attention had already moved onto the magical wards which surrounded the bastion, and he began to sketch glowing circles in the air. With practiced movements, he started re-weaving the threads of the arcane boundary.

Meanwhile, Catherine glanced towards me. “A Name?” she muttered. “Is he serious?”

“I… I’m not sure,” I lied. I turned to give Hakram an inquisitive once-over, feigning my own surprise. It would be best if I pretended to be as shocked as she was – I had deliberately made no investigations of my own into Hakram’s developing Name.

Catherine frowned, and she pulled Hakram to one side to share hushed whispers. I kept my distance, noticing the suspicion towards me. Yes, for an orc to be a claimant to a Name was big news, and Catherine quickly recognised the implications. And true, the Truebloods would be outraged to hear it – I myself had once hired assassins to target Hakram before his Name developed.

“Done – the wards are now open,” Masego announced. “It should be safe for you to pass through with minimal exploding. Is that someone else with you waiting around the corner there?”

Masego pointed towards where Barika was waiting, behind the corner of the bastion wall. 

“It is,” I confirmed with a nod. “May I introduce Sergeant Barika of the Fifteenth.”

I clicked my fingers to summon Barika to my side. She came obediently with her head lowered, and Masego frowned as the Soninke girl walked around into sight.

“Oh, and there’s another,” Masego remarked with mild surprise, looking at Barika as he adjusted his spectacles yet again. “Cultist – I think that’s also a new one?”


End file.
